Tears at a Funeral

I’ve seen a lot of death lately.
Three family members since Christmas.
Plus assorted friends and acquaintances.
This is not helpful for the psyche.

Funerals have a guest of honor, but
The guest doesn’t ever say anything.
This is the difference between a funeral and other occasions.
At least, the guest doesn’t have to give a speech.

If you look around at a funeral,
Almost everyone in the room is crying.
Everyone knows why – sadness.
Really?

I used to think everyone was missing the guest of honor.
However, now I think rather differently.
I’m not happy about what I’m thinking now.
This is also not helpful for my psyche.

Some people don’t cry, because at some point,
Somebody told them that crying was bad.
They are suffering inside, and crying would fix this.

Some people are caught up in the moment,
Just like crying at a wedding or sports victory,
They are crying tears of peer pressure.

Some people actually miss the guest.
They assume “he’s in a better place.”
They cry tears of loss and hope.

Some didn’t bother to say “goodbye”, and
They had unfinished business with the guest.
They cry tears of loss and disappointment.

Some are named as beneficiaries, and
Never knew the guest thought of them.
They cry tears of loss and joy.

Some are named as beneficiaries, but
Not to the extent they would like.
They cry tears of bitterness and disappointment.
They don’t have time to suffer loss.

The chosen few are executors.
They will carry on with paperwork
Long after the guest is buried.
I think they cry the most of all.

 

Bucket List

Time to check on the bucket list,
To see if I’m getting ahead.
I don’t want to do all of them too soon,
In case completing it means you’re dead.

Visit Australia.
Check.
Multiple times, in fact.  It’s Texas with a funny accent.

Have my salary be my age in thousands.
Check. Uncheck (Thank God.)
This only made sense when I was young. And single. And dogless. And broke.

Visit all fifty States.
Close.
Still have a few to go. Wondering how to get a business need in Alaska.

Go on a cruise.
Check. Check. Check. Check.
Now, a yearly ritual. Apparently, on someone’s else’s list, as well.

Sail from London to New York.
Scheduled.
Someday soon, this will be done. I hope.

Make my own beer.
Check. Uncheck.
Ick. This is really bad beer. Need to try again. Or just drink Guinness.

Make my own soda.
Check.
Sorry about the grape stains on the ceiling. It may have been over-carbonated.

Make my own wine.
On the list.
Have to find grapes. And equipment. And time. And patience.

Marry my soulmate.
Check. Uncheck. Check.
Wow. Divorce really sucks. Luckily, it’s not cheap.

Own a pick-up truck.
Check. Check.
It’s a Texas thing, I think. Or a guy thing.

Ride the train cross-country.
Check. Partially.
Been from Chicago to both coasts. Just not on one trip.

Ride the bus cross-country.
Reconsidered.
See partial check on train trip. Planes are much faster.

Earn one million AAdvantage miles.
Check and a half.
Business travel. Not as fun as it sounds. Trust me.

Trace my family roots.
Pending.
Met some of my relatives. Interest waning. No offense.

Write a novel.
Reconsidered.
A poem a day is hard. Who has time for a novel?

Have a dog.
Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.
May have over-achieved on this one, just a wee bit.
(RIP Sparky. RIP Max. RIP Bubba.)

Visit Ireland.
Hic.
Water of life. Mmmm. Don’t remember a lot of it.

Sing with Paul McCartney.
Check. Check.
OK, everyone else in the stadium was singing, too.

Sing with John Lennon.
Damn.

Write a book.
Check.
It was a Redbook, but it counts.

Run a radio station.
Check.
OK, that wasn’t on the original list, but KNON rocks.
(Also, the station manager knows I really don’t run the station.)

Give a eulogy.
Check. Check.
RIP Rose. RIP Dad.  This one sucked. Twice.

Sleep with a grandmother.
Check.  (Actually, a multitude of checks.)
I may get in trouble for that one.

A Brief Comment

People read my collected works.
I see page hit numbers every day.
Some people even enjoy my words.
They hit the “like” button. Yay!
Yet, almost no-one ever comments.

Comments are hard work.
You have to open a little window,
You have to type in sentences.
Basically, you have to think.
Thinking is hard.
“Like” is easier.

I really shouldn’t complain,
Since I hardly comment on other people’s works.
Mainly, for the reasons stated above. 
Who likes to think for fun? 
I barely think when I’m paid for it. 

Maybe, next year, I will have a resolution
To comment more on other people’s creativity. 
I will like it and comment why. 
It will confuse some of those people. 
(That’s just a bonus.)

Rocky Blues

Rocky
Rockford J FosterPuppy

Me nombre es Rocky.
I hope I don’t sound cocky.
I really don’t speak Spanish.
I really just speak Dog.

Please don’t start to panic,
If  Rocky doesn’t sound Hispanic.
A car ran me down last year.
Mom saved me and Dad paid.

Dad said I fought the car like Rocky.
I’m so glad I don’t play hockey.
He would have named me Gordie.
That would  be a terrible Spanish name.

(Mom says I act like Satan, 
But she’s just in one of her moods. )

I don’t quiero Taco Bell,
That’s my third cousin Manuel.
I prefer dog food and shoes.
And pecans. Pecans are tasty.

Chunky Blues

Editor’s Note: This is pulled from the archives. On a long road trip in 2001, Blind John Ellsworth drove through the town of Chunky, Mississippi. His first thought was “In the annual Miss Mississippi pageant,  who would want to be named Miss Chunky?” This piece is dedicated to all the Chunky women, wherever they may be. 

Walked into Chunky, Mississippi
And whatever did I see?
But a pretty Chunky woman
Who was smilin’ back at me

I love my Chunky woman
She loves to hold me tight
Along the Chunky River
On a Mississippi night

We moved out to Virginia
The best place I could find
Drivin’ my old pickup
With a wide load behind

No matter where we wander
From sea to shinin’ sea
My Mississippi baby
Is a Chunky girl to me

Monday Morning

Woof. Woof. Woof.
Oh. God. No. It’s Monday.
Four out of five dogs are asleep.
One Shih-Tzu without a snooze button.

I did not have enough fun this weekend
To explain feeling this bad right now.
How am I hung-over without drinks?
Time to find my motivation.

A shower always helps.
Except on Mondays.
On Mondays, it just makes you damp.
Maybe I should work at home.

Let’s see. It’s ten after seven.
Meetings start at nine.
So, I’m already late for work.
I hate Dallas traffic.

I would just call in sick, but
I’m not in third grade anymore,
And Mom wouldn’t come make soup.
(She didn’t last Monday, anyway.)

Spousal Unit just reminded me
That her first appointment is at noon.
She will be back in bed before I leave.
I will poison her coffee on the way out.

It’s time to go.

Road Rage

An idiot cut me off yesterday.
I saw her in the corner of my mirror.
She was weaving through traffic
Like a halfback running for daylight.

I slowed down so she could squeeze by me.
She missed me (barely), then saw her chance.
As she accelerated far beyond the limited speed,
I thought “She’s going to have an accident.”

I usually think “I hope you have a wreck.”
But I didn’t want to get involved this time.
It was the weekend and I was already busy.

Apparently, someone thought she should wreck,
Because a moment later, we heard brakes locking.
We saw smoking tires and bright red lights.
Then, we heard the silence of anticipation.

Accident.

Like a couple of happy drunks in Vegas,
Two cars joined together and immediately separated.
The results were just as damaging.

Everyone around the scene froze, not sure what to do.
The neighbors walked over to meet the victims.
“There’s two people who need a ride to work on Monday.”

People in both cars seemed alive and responsive,
Which means the Dallas cops won’t bother to visit.
Just exchange insurance and move the cars from traffic.

We slowly drove by, witnesses that weren’t needed,
Since someone got rear-ended by a speeder,
And the cops wouldn’t come anyway.

I’m glad I let her by, so she didn’t hit me.
I feel guilty I let her by to hit someone else.
Always check your mirrors for idiots.
They’re everywhere these days.

Where do you have to be on a Saturday afternoon?

The Battle of Virginia

The battle had raged for hours.
Friend had finally turned to foe.
As generals moved their pieces
On the battleground down below.

The Northern side were winning,
Shoving Rebels to and fro,
But their leaders still were worried,
Southern strength had yet to show.

When the words to lead elude you,
And there’s no place left to go.
You can never just surrender,
Victory is closer than you know.

Quiet Morning

Saturday morning at last.
Nothing to do until noon.
(Bark, bark, bark)

A honey-do list I can ignore.
Only peace and quiet.
(Woof, woof, woof)

Just drifting back to sleep,
With a Chihuahua on my head.
(Growl, growl, growl)

Does anyone train dogs to make coffee?