Poems: Sitting in the Dead Man's Chair - Sixth Kidneyversity on April 1 - Poem: When the Fog Comes Rolling in - Story: Pals

SITTING IN THE DEAD MAN'S CHAIR

I'm sure someone who's sat
in the chair has died, not
me yet!

At Quest, I pull up the
gray sweater I have worn
for nearly a week

It's become part of my skin
and I'm not ready yet to take
it off

Jane tries a spot on my
left arm. That damn needle
pokes around looking for a
nice big vein. I sit there
in suspense.
Have you found it yet, Jane?

Now we try the right arm. Jane
finds the gray-green upraised
bruise, high as a pitcher's
mound, where she poked me
last week.

Did you have surgery, she asks.
Jane, I laugh, you did that to
me last week.

Now she pokes me in a new place.
Virgin territory. Staring in
wonder, I ask, is it coming out?

Yes, but it's in no hurry, as it
takes its time filling the empty
vial, but only half way.

The moral, the mantra, the message?
Relax and take it slow. What's the
hurry? Your appointment in Samarra
will come when it will.

***

Ellen is doing some family geneology on my mom's side and discovered this:

BERNICE BEGIS, you are...

92.0%

Ashkenazi Jewish

6.7%

Iberian

1.3%

Middle Eastern

 Ellen CCd the results to The Sisters and I wrote back to Donna and Ellen:

Daddy will explain what the Iberian part means or else Donny Garber.

Both have passed away. 

***

Helen and Larry Kirschner saw The Bad Plus at Bucknell University on Sat, Feb 18, 2017 at 7:30 pm. Helen gave me the poster, which is posted below and is also on the bulletin board just to my left. They brought friends and family members who are now fans.

   I've been listening, while I compose, to TBP plus Joshua Redman here on YouTube.

***
My little sweetie pie called.

You know what's happening on Saturday, she said.

Uh, yeah, I said. Our sixth Kidneyversity!

Sarah will find a nice restaurant downtown and I'll take the train in to celebrate!

For dinner, I took myself over to the Willow Grove Giant. Needed to make some soup so got all the ingredients. It's bubbling away in the crock pot now.

The salad bar was closed, darn, so I bought one shrimp egg roll for $2.00 and a half pint of fresh orange juice for $2.00

Man, that OJ was tasty! Egg roll good too.




Very high in carbs.

Then I sat and read Illumination Night by Alice Hoffman for about 15 minutes before driving home in the pitch black dark.

Tyler was working the Beer and Wine Dept. He has no idea he's a main character in my short story PALS.

While still chomping on my egg roll, I got up and asked him, Can a person drink a bottle of wine in here?

Startled, he answered, No it's too big.

Just a question, Tyler, wasn't gonna do it.

But why not? 

When I got home from my high-carb snack, w/o checking my sugar, I walked around the hilly block. It was very dark out. Did not see a soul except for cars passing by. Hi Patrick's house. Hi dead man Luke's house.

Then I return home and know I must exercise more to lower my sugar. Watch PBS for 20 minutes while riding National Velvet with Elizabeth violet-eyed Taylor and then go downstairs to check my sugar. It's a perfect 81.

But you gotta eat cuz it's gonna go low.

My new fave food is


I spread two with peanut butter. Fantastic!!!

Just ate anudder one so I'll hop on my pony shortly and ride like the wind.

Took the liberty of sending Sarah Lynn three poems to read. Am gonna submit them to Proud to Be: American Warriors.

Southeast Missouri State University.

She really liked Poem for my Father, which had a couple parts. She said it was very emotional.

The Napoleon one? Eh....nice try.

And she really liked Memories of Vietnam. Liked the new rhythms and short stanzas. My friend CC did not like that one atall!

Are YOU as tired as I am?

This is the first Monday I have not worked at Symphony Manor. They fired me last week for lack of funding.

I would joke with Scott yesterday.  Gotta choose my two songs now!

Here's a poem I posted this morning on FB.

WHEN THE FOG COMES ROLLING IN

Greg Whiteside, the first voice
I hear in the morning, told us
the fog lay dense in the
Philadelphia area.

I put down my book - Whistleblowing
in the Age of Snowden - and walked
to the bedroom window.
Where was all the fog? In these days
of celebrations on the deeds of women,
I walked downstairs and onto my
front porch.
Standing in my warm polka-dot pajamas,
I inhaled through my nose as if meditating
and then blew out through puffed cheeks.
Thick fog enveloped our street and
Mailman Dante, driving his truck,
vanished.

They "liked" it which made my serotonin blink on and off, on and off!

It's reminiscent of the great children's book The Five Chinese Brothers.