“If Given the Chance” – a poem

“To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe.”

Age.
Others’ attitudes and perceptions.

I fight, will continue to fight,
To prove to those that
Dismiss me, never pausing to consider me,
Believing I have nothing left to offer,
How ridiculously wrong they are.

I possess and will continue to possess
Worth, wisdom, life and love
To be shared.

Though my gait is not so       fast,
My body not so robust,
My collective years of living
Make me invaluable,
Even vital to another.

If given the chance.

Rewiring, a poem

Life presents me
With enticements,
Temptations,
Playing with my heart.

The universe constantly connects me
to human outlets with only  ephemeral current.

Or

Currents with staying power
That lack the amperage Necessary to sustain
An electrified coupling.

Maybe an introspective
Rewiring is called for;
One more energy efficient
One without high voltage
        requirements.

“An Every Day Friend” – a poem

The conversations

So free and easy

Time isn’t considered

They are open-ended

I’m a loner

So after the visit

I notice an emptiness

Wanting to reconnect

Immediately

Tomorrow at the latest

Separated by 

Time zones

Continents

Generations 

Conversing on 

A park bench

Only an image 

In my mind

Kept apart 

By covid 

Until then

We connect 

By Skype

Calls and messages 

What separates us

Brings us together 

We’ll meet one day

Oh, the joy it will bring 

She plays a vital role 

My every day friend

“Fatal Flaw” – a poem

My fatal flaw
Ain’t against the law,
Even though people
Disappear.

Quick and clean
A well-oiled machine
It leaves no
Trace of blood.

I stop communicating
There’s no hesitating
Another friendship has ended.

The reason’s always the same
The friend is never to blame.
I simply lose interest.

I need
To be challenged
Proximity
Common interests
A bonding experience

And sometimes
Even those aren’t enough.
It’s tough
To change one’s nature.

In the end
Will I have a friend?
Perhaps I won’t
And I doubt it will matter.

When I need
Someone the most
I’ll likely find only ghosts.

Whatever my fate
I can’t overstate:
My nature prevailed.

Dying alone
No one to phone.
Thanks to
My fatal flaw.

“The Voice” – a poem

The voice

Gave his opinion

Never shyly.

Screaming!

For decades

Every three years

(or so it seemed)

He’d wake up.

I heard him,

Heeded his advice.

Move. Quit your job.

Try this. Fulfill that dream.

Five countries, fourteen cities

Countless companies

Improve comedy, grad school

Be a writer; see the world.

Recently, a change.

Opinions are still given.

Not screamed.

Whispered.

The voice is tired?

Retired?

Maybe it’s time

We both stop.

(Screamed)

Hell no!!!

Afternoon Delight – a poem

“Afternoon Delight”
A 70s song about sex
An underappreciated
Afternoon delight?
Cocktails while the sun shines

Not at a sporting event
Or at the beach
But in a tavern
With a cute bartender
(Quite often, actually)

The intent is not
To get laid
(Although it happens)
But to be free
Of the drudgery
Of the job

The delight diminishes
If you’re still glued
To your stool
After the sun has set

You’ll realize that
Tomorrow

“Knowing Someone” – a poem

Who “really” knows another?

Almost no one.

They may think so.

They might know them

More than most.

But, “really” know?

I once gave a homeless person

A sandwich, a blanket and

A hundred dollars

On a cold winter’s night.

I once gave a friend

Five hundered dollars

So she wouldn’t go to jail.

Just one condition.

Fuck me.

She still has no rap sheet.

You think you know me?

Which did I do?

Maybe both?

How about neither?

People who say

“I know you so well”

Are full of shit.

People who say

“You know me so well”

Are also full of it.

“I know you better

Than you know yourself.”

How the fuck

Is that even possible?

I don’t know anybody

“Really well.”

I don’t want to know

Anybody that much.

It’d be a colossal

Waste of time.

I do know this

(confidently certain).

Nobody knows anybody

As well as they think.

Lying, a poem

I lie.
A lot.

Some days
I’m a millionaire.
Some days
A struggling artist.

I’ve visited
A hundred countries
Or only three.

Oh, the lies
I’ve told…
About the things
I’ve done
(on every continent)
The gorgeous women
I’ve had.
(can’t count them all)

Lying is exciting.
And harmless
(in my case).

Why lie?
Because
The truth is
Somewhere
In the middle.
And the middle
Is boring.

Except for
An eclair.