Saturday, December 9, 2017

First Day of Snow, December 9, 2017 - Two poems: The Wait - What If

Oh, if only my pink camera worked - whatsa matter? run out of batteries? - OR if I could figure out how to download the snow pictures I took on my i Phone. I did try!

In half an hour Ken will pick me up and drive us to our Writers' Group Party. I love to drive in the snow, that is, if someone else drives.

We have two inches of snow outside at about 10 mph, straight down from the white sky.

I am starving, tho I just made some soup in the slo crocket....broth, onions, mushrooms, Japanese fat  noodles plus those teeny rice noodles I've had for at least 7 years.

As I stared at em thru a strainer none of em moved.


In bed, reading about the
Big Four: Amazon, Facebook,
Google and the other one
I forget

I let my ears go outside
to hear if it were coming
down or not

The rule was: no looking
but of course I disobeyed

At five a.m. despite a
big supper, hunger pains
sang out like Hello Dolly

How I fought going downstairs
and making some eggs. In an
old black and white photo
album tucked away somewhere
in the backlots of Mom's house
are photos of Cleveland winters,
mountains of snow, then coming
inside, putting galoshes in
the vestibule by the heater

Hot cocoa for the girls, the steam
hitting our cold cheeks. Would it
be a cliche to say We never thought
about Father Time and the different
people we'd become.

It came down in tiny dots, polka
dots, that were too light-hearted
and merry like a tune on a
toy piano, to fill up the streets
and sidewalks and rooftops and
after a while, hedge us in.

If you see a girl looking out her
front window, c'est moi, waiting,
just waiting, and listening to
Ry Cooder on WXPN..


You were playing
Bach's Unaccompanied
Suite for Cello No. 4 in
your pajamas in
Belle Aire, California

Night was drawing close
your family was sent
for safekeeping from
the raging fires
to Seattle where
they visited
Wild Wave Theme Park

And through your huge
picture window where
your own visage stared
solemnly back at you,
so many things to worry about,
playing Bach correctly
and wondering if your
polka dot pajamas
were flammable

You saw what must be flames
They were wild, rising as
high as the Porsche in the drive
I'm just a simple man, you thought,
In normal times, the fire brigade
would be there in no time.

You decided to go out and greet it,
stumbling outside in your Hush Puppies
the smell of smoke upon you, as you
covered your mouth with both hands
and began the cough of death

Like a lion tamer, you cried, Thus far
and no further. And stared it down
like a yogi or young god.

And, lo, the fire stopped. You began
speaking in tongues and shouting
Karuna Hum: I am compassion.

You went back inside, drank a glass
of cold water, and made yourself
a baloney sandwhich, all for the
love of God.

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