A New Beginning

     I have posted about 350 poems here, and I think it is time to revisit and revise some of them for possible publication rather than continue to post new work on a weekly basis.
   Thank you to those followers who have stuck with me. I may still occasionally post a new poem here but not on any regular schedule.  If you are finding this blog for the first time, please feel free to browse and, I hope, find something you enjoy.
   Anon.
                                                                                                                     Fred Zirm

Delusions

    Delusions

When I cycle swiftly,

sometimes the rush of wind

sounds like a car

that’s not really there

or masks the noise

of one that is. 

Hard Plumbed

We ran into some complications with a kitchen appliance.

    Hard Plumbed

The delivery man tells us
he cannot replace the old
dishwasher with its solid
copper connection and no
cut-off valve to accommodate
a new and improved successor.

It was installed as if it would
last forever – like a monument
or a bank vault or a heart.

In the Dentist's Chair

Yes, I had a cavity filled last week.

 In the Dentist’s Chair

Reclining like a reluctant

astronaut abducted by masked

and goggled aliens who probe

and pry and then ask you questions

when you are least able to answer,

you must agree to pay your own

ransom for six months of relief. 

Extended Time

In the U.S., students who have been diagnosed with learning issues that make them take more time to process and produce things are given extended time on tests.  This poem takes that phrase a little more literally- and figuratively.

        Extended Time

For the following students,

each minute in school

will seem like an hour,

and the hours will take days,

while the days will drag on

forever until the weeks wear

and bear down like months

and the weekends

never come and

never last as long

as a boring lecture

or this eternal

final exam.  

Set Strike

I just took down the set for my last production as a high school director.

     Set Strike               

First, we remove what makes things

other than they are: the burlap bark,

the styrofoam stone, the painted canvas

cover – all that we pretend is real.

Next, we break down the basics,

the bones that held it all together

with wood and sweat and steel.

Last, comes the masking tape

marking where things were

and where they would be,

leaving nothing but an empty

space where it all begins

again by feel. 

Hasenpfeffer

Mostly a true story.  (I thought I posted this last Monday but just found it saved as a draft.)

                                               Hasenpfeffer

                               The night of the big game, I ascended

                               to the P.A. booth, chosen to spot

                               the rival players for Mr. Sosebee

                               on that wet and rainy Friday.

                               Time after time, I couldn’t pick out

                               a number from the muddy pile, but

                               Mr. Sosebee would still confidently announce,

      “Hasenpfeffer in on the tackle….Hasenpfeffer

       on that catch…four more yards for Hasenpfeffer.”

       It was the last time I was asked to be a spotter.

                               After the game, I found my friend Steve

                               still in pads and cleats in the locker room,

                               staring at the cracked concrete floor.

                               “That Hasenpfeffer killed us,” he muttered.

                               “Don’t take it so hard,” I said.

       “He does that to everyone.”