"Squeeze Please" is a cute word rhyme,
But the grip it holds
Is more sublime.
Part hug, some cuddle,
More like a tickle.
It's fickle.
But,
I hear familial love songs.

My knees contract to stop his wiggles;
And then, before he starts his giggles,
My ears will hear:
Squeeze because I love you;
Squeeze because you love me;
Squeeze and we're connected;
(Squeeze please is not deceptive).
Squeeze Please makes me feel secure.
Squeeze to let me know I’m safe.
Squeeze, and squeeze some more.
Squeeze me when I'm happy.
Squeeze and make me happy.
Squeeze because you give me strength,
And connect us on the same wavelength.
Squeeze because you're my Granda.
Squeeze me like a pet boa.

I listen when he says Squeeze Please,
Those two words really speak to me.

Now loosen and Squeeze Please some more.

Some people can wait
     Before they die;
Hold on for a loved one
     To say Good-bye.
To have one more Spring,
     Or any Season,
For Love or Closure,
     This we reason.
Now many can leave
     This coil of doubt,
Guilty they heard,
     On all thrity-four counts.

I woke to the warning blasts
Of fog horns on the St. Clair.
They comfort like a weighted blanket.
And the rain falls evenly, now,
On my vegetable garden,
On everyone's lawn and garden.
All is as it should be this morning.
Quiet, ordered and secure.
I'm glad I'm not over there,
Or anywhere else,
But here.

Who waters dead plants?
Me.
Who pumps air into tires with holes?
Me.
Who spits into the wind?
Me.
Who swims against the current?
Me.
Who presses the walk button at intersections?
Me.
Who clicks BBQ tongs to make sure they work?
Me.
Who hits the save button more than once?
Me.
Who kills puppies?
Kristi Noem.

Do you see
How all things
Have conspired
For an average ******,
Like me.

I am grateful
To evade
The poxes
Others have endured.

The cold, the hunger, the homelessness;
The hate, the fear, the lonliness.
There's more.

I have never
Stretched out
A hand or fist
In want, fear, or hate.

I held chalk, and *****, and babies.
Such things sealed my fate.
Peace and Love
Filled our waves;
No poppies and crosses
On a friend's foreign grave.

Yes, all things conspired.
And this time got it right,
To live happily ever after
In my middle-class life.

Distant trains still sound alarms,
Blinds are drawn, people yawn,
It's time to call the day.

The sun's turned off,
The moon's turned on,
The stars like pinholes
Blink till dawn.
The animals are bedded
On the farm;
Beneath this counterpane we're warm.

Today our work is done;
Tomorrow worries not begun.
But tonight I'll sleep
Like the seventh son.

The eye of the hurricaine is still and lonely.
The sands on the beach are left untouched.
The church pews sit empty.
The store shelves are scant.
The pitches are quiet,
The playgrounds are empty.
The fields are burnt.
The waters are grey.
The air about is thick and acrid.
The windows are shuttered, doors are barred.
There are no moving bodies on the streets.
Cars sit idly parked.
Schools are childless.
Does this sound like the dawn of the apocolypse,
Or another four years.