Leaves Looking for Good Home

She said if you don't
rake the leaves
the grass will die.

If grass needs that much upkeep
should we keep it?

If grass dies,
then it won't need to be mowed,
and more robust plants
will grow in its place.

You can't rake every leaf.
But your neighbors will try,
and if you wait long enough,
the wind will give your leaves to
your neighbors' rakes and
mulching mowers.

I Like Liberals, Even if They Aren't

I like liberals. You'd think,
(as the expression goes),
I like them because they
are liberal, but no.

I'd be on their side
if they were truly liberal,
meaning they've accepted
the complexity of life
and see the costs and benefits
of all proposed solution,
and then "own" their beliefs.

But today's liberals have a
specific ideology, which
in my mind, makes them as
short sided as conservatives.

Note: I was told, early on,
that one should not speak
of politics or religion.
More forbidden fruit to partake!

Church

When I was a kid,
my mom did not believe
in anything she could not see, including God.

My friend Bruce wanted me
to go to church with him.
I asked my mom for permission to go.
She said no,
that I was too young
and too impressionable.

I don't think I ever went
to Bruce's church.
Before long, though,
I was attending up to
four churches a Sunday,
trying to get a bite of that forbidden fruit.

The Generous Tree

We have lots of trees,
one of which is very generous.
Every fall this elm covers our neighbor's yard
with an elegant layer of golden leaves.

"I'm retired and tired," our neighbor said,
"and I don't have time for these leaves.
I'm going to cut down my oak tree as well.
I don't want to work anymore."

My giving tree, so used to the
morning shade provided by the oak,
droops her remaining leaves in sadness,
and then releases the next cadre of leaves
in protest, as if to say,
"do we not see the gifts
that we receive?"

Ode to Junk Mail

Admittedly, liking junk mail
is as politically incorrect
as being enthralled with a
very unpopular leader.

Before you deny it,
think how devastated you feel
when the mailman comes by
and your mailbox is empty.

Much of my junk mail
is the same junk mail
I've received before
—— many times before.
I get a kind of "deja vu"
fondling, and then disposing of,
these pesty, but familiar, friends.

Can't

Can't do a poem today.

I look out the window
and there is stillness everywhere.

The wind is still,
the sky is blue,
and the shadows are frozen.

The big dog sneaked
up to our bed and is fast asleep.
The parakeet is quietly admiring
herself in her mirror and only occasionally
do I see a car pass on the road.

Maybe I'm living in still photo,
with these letters magically
appearing on my computer screen
as my fingers twitch.

The Train

We took the train from Chicago to Portland.
We'd board in the afternoon,
spend two long nights,
and arrive the next morning to the open arms of our grandfather
who would take us to our favorite hamburger joint.

We are all on a train,
with different destinations, different speeds, and different distances.
The cycle of light to dark to light to dark to light to dark
is our common denominator.

We take work to do on the train,
but our true work is riding the train,
and seeing where she takes us.
Our belief that where we go to bed is
where we wake up is an illusion.

My dog looks out the window anticipating the next stop.