A Dream Of South Dakota

I made my hands move the pages of the phonebook
And there I found you listed under “Plumbers”,
There was a full length picture of you
Standing next to your truck
Wearing a bishop’s mitre,
Holding thurible and crucifix,
You took off your vestments and got in my car,
We headed for the Black Hills,
The Cross before us,
Incense behind us,
“What about your plumbing business?” I asked,
You kissed me on the cheek,
“I want to see where Custer fought and died,”
“That’s over on the Montana side,”
“The dead need to be tended to,”
We stopped on the roadside to have a beer,
You stuck the crucifix in the ground
And pulled out your rosary,
“That’s a Buddhist ritual,” I told you
As we set out for The Little Bighorn.

Dream of the Blue Mantas

They looked like Manta Rays from the Sea,
But they were on dry land
Using their wings as pseudo-feet
But graceful in their floppy walking
Toward the cenoté where there was water,
We followed along after them
Hoping to talk to them but they had hidden
Beneath the rocks
When we got there.

We stood there at the edge of the cenoté
I wanted to kiss you but you were reluctant
Then finally you turned facing me,
“What about the Mantas?” you wanted to know,
“They are here and they are safe,” I said,
You had to pull up your bikini to keep it from falling down,
You pulled me closer
“Let’s jump in with them,” your eyes on fire.

The Manta floated gracefully in the blue water,
Your face is a blue crystal
As we follow them down.

A Dream Of Old Mexico

El Conejo (the Rabbit), the bus we were on,
Broke down somewhere south of Monterey,
So we hitched a ride with some Mexican soldiers.
Back in Monterey sitting in a nice restaurant,
You looked splendid in your short waisted,
White peasant pantalones and your midriff baring blouse,
I had the marisco platter,
You ordered the camerón tomato bisque,
When I bumped the leg of the small wooden table,
The soup splashed onto your clothes,
I jumped up taking my cloth napkin in one hand,
And placing my other arm around your waist,
Began to wipe away the red stain in your lap,
“Don’t do that!” you cried and pushed me away,
“People are watching!” and you took two napkins,
Tied them together, making of them a short skirt
That covered the stain as you walked from the cantina.
Embarrassed, I called for the waiter and oafishly paid,
Hurriedly following you out the door.

Later, we continued our trip by train,
Leaving Monterey and heading south through Guadalajara
And on down to Nayarit province.
I had taken the liberty of booking a sleeping berth,
Even though we were not married,
Our work as anthropologists was ultimately taking us
To a place near the village of San Blas
Where there was a recent UFO sighting,
In the sleeping compartment I rolled over and
Accidentally touched you inappropriately,
“Steve, I can’t believe you did that!” you said,
Propping up on one elbow,
“I love you,” was all I could say,
You looked down and then at me,
“I love you, too.”

High on the hill overlooking San Blas,
Standing in the old Spanish fort,
We heard the famous bells of the church,
As we looked out over the low marshy plains
That stretched to the sea,
I reminded you of Andromeda,
“Do you remember now?” I asked,
“I’m beginning to,” you said sorrowfully,
“Then we had better go.”

We approached the area where the UFO had landed,
A confirmed landing this time with the spaceship intact,
I held your hand as we walked past the armed guard unnoticed,
A yellow light flashed from the ship,
The walkway extended as I held up my left hand,
We stepped onto it and it began retracting,
Finally we were going home.

Thanksgiving Dinner

We get seated at our table
And quickly arrange things:
Our chairs, our money, our clothes,
We wait the usual thirty minutes for service,
Even though this is our Thanksgiving dinner
Things are just the same,
Some folks have already been served
And seem to be enjoying themselves and
Each others’ company,
We sit patiently knowing our turn is to come.

The meals being eaten are interesting
For a Thanksgiving meal,
One person has tacos, another has a reuben
With apple juice,
We already know what we will have:
You, the calzone,
Me, the deluxe cheeseburger and
Skittles for desert,
We sit patiently and wait our turn,

“There she is!” you cry out and stand up
Nearly knocking over the low table,
She walks in wearing her usual stunning blue outfit,
Her golden hair shining and giving her an aura
Of calmness and peacefulness,
We hug and she nearly breaks my ribs,
She is happy that we have not already eaten,
We smile and laugh a lot as we get our food.

We have to put the coins in the vending machine,
She has to operate the microwave,
It’s in the Inmates Rules,
We say our table grace
Then we sit and eat and talk,
Burning our fingers on the cellophane wrappers
As the steam escapes from inside revealing
Our repast,
I lie and tell her I don’t like the red Skittles
So she will have them all,
A treat for Thanksgiving dinner.

Extra Buttons

While tucking in my shirttail
I noticed some extra buttons
So I tried to button them
Thinking that they had not been reconciled
To their buttonness,
But there were no buttonholes
Available for them,

So, starting at the bottom and working up,
I buttoned them randomly
To existing buttonholes,
Checking out the new pattern in the mirror,
To decide if this could be
A new fashion statement
Like baggy pants,

I pulled the small ones as high as I could,
Buttoning shirttail to collar,
Then walked back out
To my office cubicle,
Taking my time,
Flaunting my new button chic,
Revelling in my button freedom
And marvelling at my good fortune
Of having extra buttons.

At The Right Time

It wasn’t that
He avoided eminent death
By eating certain foods and
Drinking wine to excess,
He never gave a second thought
To what he would eat or drink,
“Drink when you’re thirsty,”
"Eat when you’re hungry,”
The old Zen adages kept him going,
No matter what he ate or drank
He could always explain
His preeminence in adjusting
To new cuisine,
By taking two aspirin
Before he went to bed.

Pobre Acapulco

Nobody goes to
Acapulco any more
Diving off a cliff