Monday, July 9, 2018

So long Ray from adult daycare - Thailand soccer team rescue - Poem: Ron cuts to the chase

I dressed in what finery I had - some very fancy trousers I bought at Bloomie's - as I was going to present a poem I'd written to Second Home about saying goodbye to one of our cherished clients.

I asked boss Boris if he'd like a copy. He took it and I never saw it again.


His earthly form will
no longer pass through
the door

Still I will look
pretending he will return

So handsome, so debonair
dressed like a
country gentleman

Remember his neatly tied
saddle shoes?

His crew neck shirts
with the white-pointed
collars jutting out just so

The ribbing he'd take -
and enjoyed - from our
table mate Ken?

Lunches made especially
for him, this special man
who had his own medical practice

I envied his crustless sandwich
of ham and cheese, a bag of
chips on the side

His darling wife Ellie
has moved him to a forever
home, where he will stay
until the angels call him forth

Ray, Ray Schwiebert, 83 years old,
his earthly run was fairly long
but not long enough for a man
who so loved the world.


And, darn it all, Table mate Ken wasn't there, as he's on vaca with his family. And R wasn't there either as he family was on vacation and they sent her to respite care.


My yard looks fantastique! Ron Moran and his sidekick Dan Alexander, mowed down the high shrubs, so tall a mean old witch could've clumb right up to my bedroom window and forced me to give up my first-born child.



Vat else? Scott's off. Cauliflower crust pizza was delicious but I injected too much insulin, he pointed out, and we don't want his Ruthie - c'est moi! - to go low. So I'm munching on - guess?

Snyder's pretzel rods, of course. When I finish writing my progress notes for the adult daycare, I'll go back to his well A/C'd house and we'll watch a film about a Paris train.

Oh! On Facebook, I wrote an imaginary poem about how it might feel to be rescued in the Cave in Thailand. Click here about rescue, wrin an hour ago.

A truck carrying oxygen tanks arrives outside the Tham Luang cave complex, where 12 schoolboys and their soccer coach were trapped inside a flooded cave, in the northern province of Chiang Rai, Thailand, July 8, 2018.
As we know, the first diver ran out of oxygen and perished.

My poem was dissed by a know/all woman, so I erased my poem.

Hmm, how to get it back?

God will provide.


He came three days early
as I dilly-dallied at
the supermarket, their new
asphalt finally as smooth
as butterscotch pudding.

Pretending I was a grownup,
again, I told him how short
I wanted the shrubs. He
introduced me to his pardner
Dan Alexander, who said I can
call him Dan, but I prefer the
entire name, the way you refer
to a Toyota Camry or Prius.

Waiting inside in air-conditioned splendor
watching The Break en francais
on Netflix, I wondered how the shrubs
would look when I emerged from my

It was like a new home. A new yard.
Everything was visible. A green frog
from my sister Donna. A tiny deer
I'd bought on a day trip. The bird
bath where birds come to drink, bathe,
and altercate.

Now, I needn't worry. When the wicked
witch would climb up to my bedroom
window via a stepladder of a vine
she willna find it. I am safe in
my bedroom, drowning in sweat.

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