April is National Poetry Month, story in Bucks County Courier Times - My prose: What Fell From the Sky

Here's the link to the story, which you can only read for 24 hours. Then you must subscribe to the Courier Times. In my opinion, $10 per month is way too high. The NY Times is $15 per month.

I usually write Guest Columns for the Doylestown-based Intelligencer. When I called Alan Kerr he told told me his readers would not be interested.

Perfect, I said, then we'll teach them to appreciate poetry.

Since I'm gonna write a story about the NAMI Walk in early May, he gave me a choice. I chose the NAMI walk and then got in touch with their sister paper, the Courier Times, headquartered in Levittown.

Guy P, editorial page editor, published it in today's paper.

After doing my back exercises and eating a delicious mushroom-onion-garlic (hah!) omelet, I picked up a copy at Burdick's News Agency in Hatboro.

Since I'm throwing away lots of my old photos, I found this one of Francis Burdick, founder of the company.

 What a handsome man! Took the photo in 1981, which is shortly after his wife died, said his daughter Sandra.

Look! I found his grave on the Internet! He's buried in the Hatboro Cemetery. To process my feelings about my father's death at 59, I wrote an article about the cemetery, managed, at the time by the Yerkes family.

Here's Mr Burdick's daughter Sandra. She was very happy I brought in the photo. Next to her is Leo who helps out. He poured me a steaming hot cup of Ellis Coffee. (The principals of the company used to live across the street from my mom, but moved out due to "getting on in years.")

 Here's Carl, who's married to Sandra. It's 10:30 am, as you can see by the huge clock.

The news agency is doing okay, financially, but has had to cut back a lot, esp. on deliveries of newspapers. Oh, how we love newspapers and want to keep them in business.

Their main sellers are tobacco products.

They also have a soda fountain, yes, an old-fashioned soda fountain.

Today's kids have no idea what that is.

Hey, let's all of us geriatrics meet at the soda fountain and slurp up Root Beer Floats.

It seems like it only took a fortnight to become a geriatric.

Then I hopped in my car, like a bunny-rabbit, did a stunning U-turn, and had Mark Amos of Bux-Mont Stationers make 30 copies of the article



Mark Amos is wonderful! He special-ordered ribbon cartridges for my printer since I told him I'd rather buy from him than Staples, so I picked em up today.

While waiting for my copies, I walked around town and stopped into Gamburg's to look at couches.

Before I left home for my Hatboro adventures, I entered a piece into a CNF - creative nonfiction - contest on Hippocampus. 

BUT I didn't realize I missed the deadline, which was two days ago.

I was so mad!

You had to use their "prompt" which is the first sentence.

WHAT FELL FROM THE SKY

         

I immediately regretted putting it in my mouth. It had been a good fifty years since the last time I tasted it, and, oh, baby, the world was a different place back then. Dad drove a Country Squire Station Wagon and we had no idea that the emissions coughing from the exhaust would one day cause the polar ice to collapse, the sunsets burn brighter and bring us such brutally cold winters that I lined my trousers with flannel pajamas and wrapped a scarf across my face when I walked to the curb for the mail.

          That something as innocent as the gently falling snow would become nearly as toxic as radioactivity! “Dad!” I cried out to my dead father, “Look what they’re doing to our beautiful world!”

          Before logic could stop me, I brushed off a handful of snow from the railing outside my door and swept it into my mouth. Quickly it melted and I cupped my bare hand again and stuffed more into my waiting mouth. And did it again and again.

The mail truck with chains on its tires chugged up our hilly street.

Oh, well, enjoy your cream of asparagus soup made with - what? - quinoa milk beverage?