Monday, July 30, 2012

Perspicacity

  Perspicacity

Who will win this fight
between foresight and
forgetfulness?
In what safe place
did I put my will?
Where did I hide
the emergency key?
In which notebook
did I write this poem’s
perfect end?



Monday, July 23, 2012

Last Laugh

    Last Laugh

“I was not always this short,” Jeff told me one night
our freshman year. “I was nearly six foot once,
but I suffer from Tamiroff’s Phenomenon. I’m losing
an inch or two a year – and the doctors don’t know when
it will stop.” I looked for a trace of a smile on his
normally impish face, but his mouth was grim,
his eyes sad. “That’s awful,” I said and patted him
on the shoulder, all the sympathy we males were
allowed to show each other in 1968. “Yeah, I know,”
he said and shuffled off toward his dorm room
for another hour or two of avoiding studying.

Five minutes later Jeff burst into my room,
laughing his head off and gasping
“Gotcha. Gotcha.”

Two years later he had shrunk enough
all but his bleeding head could fit on the cover
of Newsweek, along with a young runaway wailing
beside his fallen body. Onlookers at Kent State
said when they saw the National Guard kneel in unison
and fire at the crowd, they thought this is not really happening.

Gotcha. Gotcha.


                                                         In memory of Jeffrey Glenn Miller
                                                         March 28, 1950- May 4, 1970


For foreign readers and Americans under 40, the Kent State killings occurred during protests over the Vietnam War.  Fans of classic rock will remember Neil Young's song "Ohio", written in response to this event.  I first hear the song before it was actually recorded and a Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young concert in either late May or early June of that year.  I knew Jeff from his time at Michigan State.  He transferred to Kent State his junior year and died in May of that year.  The last time I talked to him was at MSU during his sophomore year..  He knew I was from Ohio and asked me if Kent State was a good school.  I said yes.

Monday, July 16, 2012

A Walk in the Park

    A Walk in the Park

The retractable leashes reel and unreel
in their bright plastic housings,
giving the dogs the illusion of freedom
and the masters the illusion of control
as they stroll among the other happy couples
and their smiling faces, real and unreal.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Ghost Runners

I won't try to explain wiffleball to those who don't already know the game, except to say it's a form of baseball that can be played in smaller spaces since the plastic, perforated ball does not travel as far.

    Ghost Runners

would take our place on base
those backyard August evenings
in our 4-on-4 wiffleball games
and if our turn to bat came round again
it was up to us to drive our own spirit
in with sacrifice, single, or suicide squeeze
(and to argue our phantom twin had surely
slid safely in to score) – and those who tried
too hard to homer would always whiff and leave
our young selves to die in the summer dusk on third
as our parents called to us, so close and so far from home.



Monday, July 2, 2012

Unfinished Business

This is about not quite achieving a goal, but I'm afraid the title may also refer to the present state of the poem as well.

   Unfinished Business

The wind gently wrinkles the lake’s calm waters,
quilting the swells from an unseen power
boat that passed this way at dawn
which now cause my kayak to rise and fall.

Behind me I hear a faint shushing sound
as if a distant steamboat were bearing down
on me, but I’m no Huck Finn; it’s just
the rubbing of my own life vest.

My sights are set on the other shore; then the clock
tower strikes the hour too soon, and I turn
back, my journey only half-complete.
Nothing rides my modest wake.