Salatul Istisqa (Surrender Prayer for Rain)

Other rains once fell, other rains will fall,
but the rain that falls is the rain that falls
and that is the rain the plants will drink
and reservoirs collect until a new rain falls.
The next rain might be the rain that kills
or the rain that ends our drought of zeal
but we don't pray for cruel or gentle rain,
we pray for any rain to wet the soil at all.


George Steinbrenner, in Memoriam

You dedicated your life
to building a monument
to unpleasantness and
selfishness, then along
comes this no account
journalist claiming you
were secretly generous
because you asked him
once to give a third guy
some money.


The American Universe

Pluck a strawberry. Pop in in your mouth still every bit as alive
As the minute before. Now, if the berry were an embryonic
Mouse, you'd see you still have a ways to go in being a carnivore.
Rick's unmuscular angels are still eying the berry with mercy,
While most of us—the grains of sand, the rocks and water droplets—won't own
To even having mouths. It's believed that molecules of air decline
Personal space or shape, and inklings in the vacuum eschew being
In the first place.
                         Collectively, we're not a bad bunch, when all is said
And done. We're in it together. Bonhomie's slightly too strong a word,
But camaraderie exists and leavens what might otherwise be cruel.
Your berry is sweet, your mouse cute, your inanimate just shy of dead.


This Tree

There's more oxygen under this tree.
It's cooler under this tree.
Why won't you come sit next to me?
It's a big tree, lots of shade.

There are a couple nasty mosquitos,
yes.
Mites occasionally roll off the leaves.
That's why you won't sit next to me?

You look very lovely, like a nice girl.
That's why
I entice you to come sit next to me.
No, there is no wolf under this tree!


The Otologist's Placebo

She came in, sat down,
listened closely, got up,
went to a book shelf,
selected a slim volume
with her index finger,
came back, sat down,
and said, “This is one
of my favorite poems by
Mary Oliver. I think you
might enjoy it as well.”
Then in a loud, pleasant
voice she read it to me.

It was something about
doing what you have to
do to save your own life
and a road with rocks
and branches littering it.
It was very nice to hear,
but don't think it did a thing
to help unblock my ear.


O bubbly Sunrise

O bubbly Sunrise
Weather woman
Fifi Box, the fact
your new dream
lover has a 6-month
visa hiccup halting
his next big date
with you in Sydney
seems more likely
luck than affliction
considering that
you first burped
up your heart to
handsome Chavo
as he belted out
Mexican karaoke in
a Waikiki hotspot.

ah, yes, comes through nicely now. great copy! where's the Playboy now? tom

An otologist is an ear doctor, the blocked ear why N came.

Plato's Cabana

A man plucks a beach plum and pops it in his mouth as alive
As it was the instant before. But were that plum an unfledged gull
We might observe he's not completely classifiable as carnivore.
The myriad grains of sand and numberless water drops won't
Own to even having mouths. Unseen molecules of air decline
Possessing space or shape. Brief inklings in the ether eschew being
In the first place. Collectively we're not a bad bunch when all's said
And done. We're in it together. Bonhomie's a bit too strong a word
But camaraderie exists and leavens what might otherwise be cruel.
The berry's sweet. The gull chick's cute. The inanimate's not dead.


note to a young poet

your single-minded commitment
is exemplary

but honestly

if you should leave more time
to get to know your family

they, one day, will be interested


mar·riage \'ma-rij\

–noun
1. a deep misunderstanding that resists detection.


My man's

got the iced beer stand in hell.


Uncle Paul, Trying on 'Bigot'

God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!
Alright, He did make Steve.


All Theology and Politics Covered in 15 Seconds with the Schoolbus Driver

“How are you today?” I asked.
“I'm blessed,” she said, “and you?”
“I'm only regular, but managing.”
“If you let Jesus manage for you,
you would be blessed too.”
“That's what George Bush said.”
“And wasn't that man a savior."

Thirty Five Years at 17 Oakwood Ave. (after Lawrence's and Lavonne's)

When they finally decided to sell,
the realty listing offered “Gracious Living,”
the biggest laugh they'd had
since the day they moved there
and were told that the nearest neighbors
wanted them over for an evening of watusi.
The two of them were not bon vivants—
“vivants” alone was a bit of a stretch.

The house sold quickly.
At the closing, the realtor awarded my parents
a boxed set of wicker-bottom vermouth glasses.
“That's when I know we were had,” Dad said.

Even more quickly the strawberries were ripped out
and replaced with an in-ground swimming pool.
The pear and cherry trees were sawn down
to extend what the ad called “the park.”
Worst, they removed the thin teardrop-shaped
driveway with a copse of birch near the point
and laid down a two-laner straight to the garage.
“Barbarians,” Mom and Dad concluded.

Then the tall, unruly hedges gave way
to a high white wooden fence and gates,
and the remodeling continued
as top-secret as the Manhattan Project.


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