Company

You’re never alone in a house,
whether or not there’s a mouse,
the itch on your head,
the skin that turns red,
the faint thought it might be a louse.

Cabin fever’s the state of your mind,
when you’re not confined with your kind,
think of the ticks
or the black things with six
or eight legs, it might help you unwind.

Some say a man’s home is his castle,
when insects invade, it’s a hassle,
spray ’em and swat ’em
won’t rest ’til you’ve shot ’em
with poison from cans with clogged nozzles.

Think of a mountaintop glance,
the people and cars look like ants,
could be as we wonder
just whose roof we’re under,
we’re crawling around in god’s pants.

Incident at the laundromat (New Year’s Day, 1988)

She had these wild, beady eyes,
soft as bloated lightning skies,
darted round the room like flies,
betrayed a vacant smile.

Coulda sworn she had antennae,
obviously no beginner,
mapping out her own agenda,
left my hankie by her pile.

Eyes and mouth began to dance,
pestered from my waking trance,
object of her circumstance,
bowed heads peered from sticky seats.

Accusing me of spreading plague,
crusty hankie fueled her rage,
rationale seemed pretty vague,
swiveled ’round to fold her sheets.

Her magic worked a spell on me,
mind raced like a freezing bee,
printed words so plain to see,
whizzing by like spin & rinse.

Put the hankie in my pocket,
time grinds on if no one stops it,
have to come again to wash it,
maybe when it’s not so tense.

Turkey daze

It’s that special time, once a year,
’round four o’clock in the afternoon,
when we praise ancestors’ good sense for
sending natives to the moon.

Until, that is, we realized the moon
was more than rocks and sand,
if we had known what lay below
they never woulda got that land
(a soul for a load of coal’s a fair trade, you understand … ).

And since it hits too close to home
for most of us to bear,
we give our thanks to god, but first
we take away the empty chairs.

So when you carve the bird inside that home with heat
(consider the source),
the immigrants had not yet found a source so neat
(they turned to force).

Eat and drink and eat summore,
(Now’s the time to thank the lord)
until you’re laid out on the floor
(for bellies that did not explode).

Separate the white and dark meat,
dread the dish in need of cleaning,
and wave good bye to dearly departed natives (they were just here … ),
for whom ‘turkey’ surely has a special meaning (see ya next year!).

Second language learning: Proceed with caution

Ils disent qu’il y a beaucoup de poissons la,
Je suis d’accord qu’existe l’endroit comme ça,
Mais je n’y suis pas allé,
Je reste toujours a mon chalet,
Je n’y dois pas crois qui ne va pas la bas.

A day in the life of a ranger

Hazardous fumes, steep cliffs,
Rough surface, hot lava.

Show’s at nine, and then at two,
Rain or shine, the cattle drive.
Smile for the hordes, it’s what I do,
if they were mine, I’d skin ‘em alive.

You see this mountain,
it’s a volcano . . .  spews out lava . . gets in the way.
It covered forests, it covers houses,
a solid ocean, of rock and debris.

An ageless story, of death and rebirth,
the fire that smolders, within us all.
At times it ruptures, where is the restroom?
I left the batteries, back in the car.

We have to walk? In thick-soled shoes?
Where does the stoopid, trailhead start?
Who needs the lava tubes? Saw that on youtube,
You call this . . . a national park?

The next location, so says this guide book,
is down the road, look for the sign.
Where are the steam vents? I’ll post the selfie.
The hotel restaurant, closes at nine.

I made a deal . . .  with Uncle Sam,
talk with the public, repay my loan.
Connecting people . . .  with the land.
I’m all alone on this cinder cone.

The Clock

Time ticking away.
A penny earned.
They drill through rock,
they’re working off a different clock,
they’ll never learn.

Space everywhere.
Interrupted by land.
The object of which
will make some rich, but there’s a hitch—
supply and demand.

Too many species.
Can’t help them all.
So the few make plans and fill the stands
then wash their hands.
And watch them fall.

The power of reason,
that was their niche.
The fools say a curse that can’t be reversed,
for better or worse,
until the last tick.

Predator

Origins may be murky, traits less so:
persistent, aggressive, hardy, opportunistic.
Parasitic, ruthlessly engineered by nature,
jumping between meandering currents of unwitting hosts.
Crown-like in visage to those who know it best.
Targets the vulnerable,
turning their defenses, their designs, against them,
front line responders on their heels,
like the overloaded power grid built for normal ebbs and flows.
Preys on rote impulse to survive.
Precaution struggles against
the desperate seduction of false choice
as curves flatten, spike, flutter, flatten,
lethal contagion lifted on a ghost breeze.
Coming soon to a rally near you.