He drops the bag

He drops the bag
and the glass bottle breaks
Grandma advises her:
“Men don’t like to hold small things
They’ll drop them
Give them big, bulky things to hold instead”
Take life as it is, she thinks

He awoke to find his glasses on the floor,
his pot pipe fallen behind the end-table
Leaves like little red tinkles set
in breezy brown branches sing
Dr. Campbell said, “It all boils down
to this—the big fish eat the little fish
so the little fish better be smart”

Old John lectures the audience about
the right kind of self-absorption and
in response to her question—she was red-
haired, young and sexy in an innocent way—
asked whether she accepted what
he said about it and she said “When it
comes from you I do, it’s okay”

Worlds vanish as we blind ourselves
to the brighter and darker shadows and
tonalities of appearance
“When I wear this mask who
would you find to examine me? These
charts are the kind of thing that help those
who are helped by that kind of thing”

Genuine inner warmth and disinterested
courage that seeks no crude advantages
At 66 there’s more before than ahead
Her face blushes pink in the moon’s dull
after-light—she loves what’s odd
and strange while he’ll complain of
slack, flabby air and an excess of light

So this guy phones Matt all mad
“When’re you going to fix my roof?!!!” and
Matt, is not the roof guy, but couldn’t resist
and asks “So what’s wrong with your
roof?” and the guy really screams now
“You know damn well what’s wrong
with my roof!!!”

at which point Matt takes pity on him and
says, “Sir, I think you have the wrong number”
We carry our burdens and set them down
There’s madness in the heights
No, I don’t fear the night though I
thrash in pain and greed, and know
that sleep is like death’s brother

When I nearly drowned in the ocean,
Myer, with those sharp eyes of his,
saw me struggle for breath from
the shore and alerted the lifeguards
Some lives save and add fire to others
If my dad didn’t die when he did
he’d surely be dead by now

Reasons can’t stop tragedy
Emotions create nothing
When sadness comes, superficial
luxurious substitutes don’t
mean a thing— and their lack of
perfection, like some fallow sort
of phantom love, offends me



-October 21, 2017-