Good Glide

we slide across the snow,

winters final flakes,

i squint or go blind,

my edges chop

fresh corduroy,

this is my spring,

i think, good glide

Thoughts of my Grandfather

it’s nine twenty four

the April sun shimmers

light still unfiltered

by leafless birch trees

outside my window

i realize

i never really knew

what my grandfather did

a farmer without a farm

a veteran of the second world war

a delivery man

a friend of the friendless

and I wish I could

ask him with today’s ears

Mementos & Junk

bandanas of assorted hue and design

a watch which stopped telling time July 11, 2009

knives of varying length and sharpness, all made by or given from: my father

a sewing kit, missing one needle with no more black thread

wallet size pictures of my wife and I, capturing college times afar and places no longer near

another watch, this one living in a different time zone

scratched sunglasses

chap stick

paper clips

an old birthday card

a five by seven photograph of my grandparents, they always looked content

a book of matches, from an Italian restaurant I don’t remember eating at

handkerchiefs, something my father uses but I never took out of the packaging

a blue brochure titled “Need someone to talk with?” from a counselor I never called

boot laces and shoe laces

a metallic, black fallen warrior bracelet commemorating

21 May 2007

a crumpled receipt for 16.1 gallons of gasoline

a vile of myrrh

and my dog tags

(this is [what’s in the top drawer of my dresser])

6-Pack Soliloquy

To finish the six-pack, or not to finish the six-pack: that is the question:

Whether ‘tis nobler to leave one beer still looming alone in the fridge,

The bondage of one’s misfortune not to finish the sextuplets of IPA,

Could embark though upon a much greater sea of troubles,

And thus to oppose the deliciously over hopped amulet of bitterness

Would be to deny one’s own self no more, and thus, we must not.

Hot Dog Flavored Water

What do you do with the hot dog flavored water?

After boiling the tubed steak made of:

            17% edible pork trimmings

            64% mechanically separated chicken carcasses

                        squeezed through a sieve

            19% powdered preservatives

                                    (potassium lactate, sodium’s

                                    diacetate, phosphate, nitrate,

                                    and erythorbate)

                        red food coloring,

                        corn syrup, and

                        beef stock

I ponder over the sweet aroma wafting from

            the pot of hot dog broth/stock/bouillon/consommé.

And after it slowly cools I poor it upon

            my dog’s bowls and watch as they furiously

            lap the deliciously (almost intoxicatingly)

            wonderful elixir.

New Recipe, Old Habit

Recipe for xxxxxxxx:

1 empty glass beer bottle (with cap)

12 ounces unleaded gasoline

1 campfire

Directions:

Slowly pour gasoline into the bottle,

ensure you are a reasonably safe

distance from the already burning

campfire, otherwise you will become

the human torch.  Using the bottle

cap, place it upon the refilled

bottle and carefully crimp the cap

back on top.  Then, using a sharp

object pierce a hole in the center

of the bottle cap, and, wipe the

bottle to ensure gasoline vapor

has safely evaporated from the bottle.

Finally, place it in your camp

fire and stand back.  Reasonably safe

distances should be determined as the

torch begins and grows like a flame

thrower from the top of the bottle.

potential

will the mother reindeer teach her young fawn what life is like outside the cage or will the young offspring learn this is life and I wonder after talking with my friend that we are no better than that mother reindeer for she knew what freedom is yet now she must live missing a world she once knew and should still know yet now watches life grow from within