Posts for June 15, 2025 (page 12)

Shaving soap
Gillete adjustable razor
A boar-bristle, bone-handled brush
Nestled in a yellow mug  

A little water, just the right amount of swirling
Apply gently, shave carefully 
Rinse, towel off

Amen’s medicated talc
Apply liberally  to both feet
before putting on socks 
Dab a little more
in each arm pit

Colgate tooth powder
Pour into the palm, wet the toothbrush
dab the powder
Brush, rinse, spit

A black plastic fine-toothed comb
Wet your head
Comb hair into place

Brylcreem
A little dab’ll do ya

Take what you received
(see Part 1)

and what you made
(see Part 2)

and
give
it 
away

spring rain dances as it falls

Each poem’s line

She sees me standing hands-free
in the early morning fog of waking up
not minding anybody’s business
not awake enough to mind my own.  

She’s a skinny rich girl and a good person.
She describes precious things she buys
at boutiques in little towns with odd names
in hidden folded corners of Kentucky.  

She takes a shine to me, says I need fixing.
She shows me ads for two different types
of glasses I could wear while playing tennis
that would make me look like John Lennon.
I think they’d just make me look goofy,
but it’s nice, the way she fusses over me.  

She says we’re on a mission. Walk behind me. I
follow, as she steers her souped-up golf cart
across the quadrangle, motoring toward
a man who looks like Milburn Pennybags.  

He sees her coming, flees because he thinks
she’s trying to run him down
but she only wants to ask him a question.
She’s unaware she comes across as pushy.  

Turns out we’re at a Naval Base,
the part that keeps the ice cream.
Even though we’re civilians,
they lift the freezer lid for us to look.
I see the Navy buys ice cream in bulk
shaped like Neapolitan mastodon ribs. 

I’m just standing hands-free under sun
that burns off morning fog.
I’m not minding someone’s business
and don’t see any business of my own.  

Patriotism 101

In this world we’re living in I’ve known some broken fragile men,

Just trying to make it through this world alive,

Their daddies always told them, when he would beat and he would scold them,

Believe in God, raise your kids and love your wife.

Now don’t you dare be prissy, ‘cause God don’t like no sissies. He really is a John Wayne sorta guy,

He’s watching all you do, and son I’m telling you, His judgement it don’t even end when you die.

Son you’ve gotta be a bruiser, ‘cause God he don’t like losers, and all that shit about the meek will get the earth…

Well, when Jesus comes again, I’m telling you my friend, they’ll all be damned and they’ll find out what its worth.

I know you think this ain’t how the story went, but there’s still more not put in print,

That God whispers in the pastor’s ear.

He says some of that stuff there in that book was put there by some kook, who never loved his country and that’s clear.

I’m sure God stood there in that desert sand, and stretched out His mighty hand,

And said “There’s a promised land you’ll one day see,”

It’ll be for folks like you, and all that you’ll have to do, is kill everyone not like you and me.

He sent Columbus across the ocean blue, and then He sent the Pilgrims too, and because of Him Washington couldn’t lie,

And after wars and commotions, this country stretched from ocean to ocean, and to keep it free, some of us need to die.

So you’ve got suck it up my son, buck it up and do what needs to be done. Push your feelings deep down inside.

You must maintain your facade. Just keep your faith in country and God, and right will always be on your side.

And if you have to sin, it don’t matter if you win, ‘cause winning’s what it’s really all about,

Even when you’re beaten down, and your leaders seem to crush you down, being on the wining side is all that counts.

It’s no good to show your fear, you must always be clear, and never admit you might be wrong,

This world is like a hyena pack, if you’re weak you’ll be a snack. They’ll have you down and you won’t last too long.

Now, I’m a grown and aging man, and here on my land I stand, I think my obligations have been skewed.

Those were the words my daddy told me when he would beat me and scold me, and in this life I think I have been screwed.

In therapy I have to sit, because of a world of daddies shit, that I have to work through to understand,

That all the myths that we’ve been handed, have left us morally stranded, confused and abused on every hand.

They’ve turned us against our fellow man, and made us laughing stocks throughout the land, and of the hypocrisy we should be ashamed,

Our churches and our schools have taught us to be fools, generations of myths and propaganda are to be blamed.

So when the man says “Sonny, come and die for your country. It’s what your mother and God ask of you.”

Take a breath and ask yourself if the struggles that end in someone else’s wealth are really what your world would have you do,

They say “You can love it or you can leave it.” But they never mention those who grieve it, or the ones who fight for change for a better day.

They don’t tell you how it seems that the good ole American dreams have turned into nightmares along the way.

There’s some will call me a traitor, or call me a hater, but I tell you it just ain’t that way at all.

I love every inch of this land, and I love my fellow man, and I’d love to see a world where no one has to crawl.

In Costa Rica, he cajoled me to try ziplining
omitting the part where we must trail ride a horse
across a swift stream and up the mountain to reach
the platforms high above the green tree canopies. 

Did I tell you I had never ridden a horse before
or feared heights? He knew. I summoned
courage from my vault and succeeded sort of.
At platform one, the guide had to body slam me
to avoid ramming the tree and the people on it.
My hand breaks on the cable failed, an intervention
occurred on the platform as he took photos. 

On the way down, my mare was starving
cruising down the mountain to her hay
as I held on out of control. At her destination
the stable guide offered to help but only held
her reins as I toppled on my back. The rest
arrived peering down at me on that forest floor
from their mighty steeds as if to say, What are
you doing down there?   Taking a nap! 

Next day was spa day. My element yay.
He was a novice and tried to convince
someone to rock climb instead. There
were no takers. He succumbed.
Afterwards, whispering in my ear,
“How low do they go?”
Guess who got the last laugh?

Turn left, turn left
shriek of grinding metal
two colorful cars
trade paint before the boom
and the flames gasp for oxygen

Turn left, turn left
shriek of whipped flesh
two colorful jockeys
heads lowered before the breakdown
the tent, and the shotgun boom

The lowest common denominator
of Rome is America

mow the grass
mow the grass
until there comes a time
when you’re no longer
     present
     available
     interested
          then
I mow the grass
I mow the grass
until there comes a time
when I’m no longer
     concerned about having a lawn
so I move on, somewhat relieved
grass is plentiful in our city parks

Saturdays, after eighteen holes, my father
pitched in around the house, doing his share
of the dishes, drying, one of mom’s aprons
stretched tight around the bulb of his belly,
the yard, of course, mowed every weekend,
stopping every five or so rows to empty the bag of clippings.
He’d crush mole tunnels with the heels of his tennis shoes
that had become stained Amazon-tree-frog green.
Carry the bags of clippings to the curb.
Tackle any remaining chores, tighten the screws
of the door knob that kept coming loose,
patch the window screen that his youngest boy
had repeatedly poked a pencil through.
He’d wring the sweat from his shirt,
toss it in the washer, leave the dirty shoes
on the mat beside the back door.

After showering, he’d settle into a chair on the deck,
or before the TV if the Cubs were playing,
cocktail and cigarettes until it was time to eat,
after which, back to the recliner:
as predictable as the tide, up went his sock feet,
asleep in no time, his snoring
a white nose machine filling his sons’ heads
with instructions for living the good life,
if they’d been paying attention.