Class Reunion

It was the Class of ‘69
Such an appropriate year
He pulled out his red varsity blazer
Splashed on a whole bottle of
English Leather
Combed his hair over to cover his bald spot
Rented a Corvette for the night
Bought a jug of good Scotch
A bottle of Viagra just in case
Practiced his best Jack Nicholson impression
Sang “Wild Thang” a few times
In case there was karaoke,
Did a few Michael Jackson spins
Borrowed some golf clubs,
I’m a 7 handicap he would say
But not actually play
Wife couldn’t come he’d tell them
That’s why I divorced her
Then launch into Tammy’s song,
He saw her standing there
Just like she was seventeen
Nonchalantly quoting every song
That everybody knew
How cool she is he thought
As she flipped him off
Turned and walked away.

Pre 60th Birthday Ennui

I heard of a guy that bought a new Camaro
Made him instantly feel younger,
Challenged a Porsche Targa Carerra and won,
I see these old geezers on new Harleys
Then read of their wreckage strewn
Across America’s highways,
I would get some Viagra
But what would I do for the next
Three hours and fifty minutes?
I started jogging and blew out a knee
But I get to wear one of those braces
With the knee-cap hole,
They laughed at me when I went
To the police department
To register my hands as deadly weapons
After taking two Karate classes,
I developed an ulcer
Worrying about
Whether or not
I have cancer,
People look at me funny
When I talk about self immolation
As a peaceful means of death,
My cup overflows
With coffee spilling onto the floor,
What mercy can I expect
After a life of crime?

The Sunday That Never Was

That I didn’t do:

Many things that needed done:

I was going to:

Presented problems:

That created illusions:

In my empty mind:

Which I soon forgot:

As I sat in the horsebarn:

Watching the rainfall:

Listening to bird language:

Calling mourning dove:

Blue Heron sits on the pond:

Reflections on reflection.

Tiller

The 2-4-D acted quickly enough
Coming in over the trees on a hot and humid day
Probably from the 80 acres a mile south,
Rising up from the plowed field
Turning the heat waves a sick purple
Vaporising a few feet above ground
Then rising quickly in the heat wind
Moving northward toward our vineyard,
Or it could have been the spraying
Of the overhead power line easement
Where the hired guns sprayed straight in the air
Thirty, forty feet to reach the highest vegetation
That threatened our electric grid,

It took a few days for the young vines to respond
To this seemingly unobtrusive chemical guest,
The leaves developed a fan-like appearance,
Their color turned from vibrant green
To a mottled yellow and green ugliness
That we just could not bear to look at
Knowing that they would never bear fruit,
Knowing that even if they did survive this onslaught
They would never fully develop
Like all the others that had developed normally,
We compared them to the producing older vines
Commenting on how the old ones were beautiful
With full clusters of wine grapes
Rich with the potential of vintage wines,
These infected ones, we said,
Could not be allowed to take up valuable space,
Space reserved for vigorous hybrids
Guaranteed to give us their bounty every year,

The tiller moved quickly up through the tunnel
Of the canopy of old vines
To the place where the young infected ones
Had been implanted Into the fertile earth,
Still living, they had no inkling of what was taking place
As the sharp blade scraped them
From the sunny warmth
Of their intended home,
Leaving a darkness that would be forgotten.