Well, have you heard, have you seen?
What?
Soccer player keeps the ball airborne running.
Yeah? Your imagination, that’s what’s running.
No, my imagination stops when I see him doing it.
So? What’s he do?
Oh, you need telling twice?
Flips the ball past the defender, catches it on the other foot,
flips it past the next player.
Yeah, sure, gimme some detail on how.
Well, upper body at between 10 and 11 degrees, ball trajectory the same.
When did he find that out?
Exercising thru the bushes in the park, avoiding prickly branches,
trunks sticking out, logs diagonal.
Policeman asks what’s he doing. Go back to school.
Yes, he says, and doesn’t.
Wanted to put in 6 hours a day of ball control.
No school?
No, he was his own teacher and pupil.
Only cooked for the family.
Mother alcoholic, sisters rebellious.
Oh, so a monomaniac?
A solomaniac, is better.
But why this air solo?
Well put. You want to intercept the ball,
you have to commit a foul.
You didn’t succeed, all sorts of space
opened up for him and his team.
You ever played against him?
Eh, I’m just an observer, a sports fan, a bit of a scout.
He still doing it?
No, he’s retired. Walks up and down
stairs with the ball in the air,
jumps fences and catches the ball on the other side.
Sounds like the circus?
Guess you could say that.
Appears on TV explaining the technique.
But so far nobody has been able to copy.
What does he say?
Slightly bent knees, catch the ball close
to the ground, center of gravity low.
It’s like a dance.
And the ball is his partner?
Well said.
He takes the ball for a stroll
in the park. Kids love it.
Walking the ball?
Hey, you got a way with words.
Sounds like a lonely guy.
No, he’s got me.
How’s that?
Well, you could say I’m keeping
him in the air.
Ah, still a fantasy.
When he lands on my feet
he’s real as a double
and true as a story.

Now, he ended up on an island. Was he alone? You bet. An island in a city, an ocean, a desert.
Every once in a while someone came by or he met this someone and they formed a twosome.
On a Monday some flotsam carried in Man Monday.
He showed him how to contemplate the moon, sit still, wait till the sunlight shone around and in him. And with the sun Man Monday disappeared.
On a Tuesday who walked up but Man Tuesday.
This guy was service personified. He saw to his every need and wakened an urge in him to serve himself. So he kicked him out, with many thanks.
On a Wednesday in came lively Man Wednesday. What entertainment, philosophical conversation. Like, see that sand castle? That’s a mirage. True, but wait till it rains, it’ll be hell-to-shelter. At that point Man Wednesday’s course had run it’s course.
On a Thursday in parachuted Man Thursday. Now, this how you make a fire. For roasting and warming. Good, let’s cook because it’s warm enough here. After the meal Man Thursday rocketed off back to the skies.
On a Friday in crusoed Man Friday. From an earlier story he knew this one was as loving as he was silent. Smile, big brown eyes, was all he communicated. And his silence was warm and cold, sweat and shiver. Like a fever. One day he canoed off to his own island.
On a Saturday slowly Man Saturday emerged. Together they grovelled and toiled. Things fell apart, they learned patience and resilience. Man Saturday was slow to leave, there was no hurrying him.
On a Sunday in marched Man Sunday. The party began, music and dance. All in worship of the Copper Cudgel, the Sacred Scorcher, the Friendly Furnace. And left him with the debris.
And who came by the next day?
Man Tomorrow. All open space, 360 degrees view, that’s what he had to offer.
Anything can happen
Anyone can come by
Anywhere you find without looking
Anyhow something shows
Anyway….. well, he goes without saying.

What’s to worry about?
Well, you got global warming, the climate clinic says.
You got seas rising, temps rising, kung flu flying, fauna failing,
floods and droughts fighting to a draw.
So? We’ll die or live
What’s more?
Well, you got global warring, the perennial peace promoter says.
You got the oily-garchs grabbing, the bitcoiners blackwashing the banks, the banks heisting customers, big countries nibbling at small countries, refugees swamping seas and lands.
So? We’ll die or live.
What’s more?
Well, you got schmillions of global worryers.
You got fears floating, angers accumulating, distress dispersing, nerves wrecking, chests burning like charcoal, knots klodding throats, sweat pouring out of pores, knees keeling but not kneeling, heads hurting, hearts eating themselves.
That sounds more like it.
How do I join this army?
They’re signing up at a building called The Void.
Uncle Shame and Auntie Blame want you.
Marching against or for what?
Warring and warming themselves.

A man met a woman friend on the street. She cried. Her grandchild had just died on a ski *****, buried under an avalanche. Inconsolable.
He was jealous. I only cry for myself, he thought. Arthritis of the hip, losing mobility, starts my tears.
The man sent a photo of a scythe he had named after a man who had died years ago. He missed the man just as much as the wife to whom he sent the picture. She cried seeing it.
The man was jealous of her tears. I only cry for myself, he thought. Feeling a goodbye coming to his former life and not knowing what to do next. That started his tears.
The man met a boy who just lost his watch. He cried heartbreaking.
Here, take mine, he said. It’s a cheap one and I don’t have as much time left as you.
I only cry for myself, he thought. Getting older, losing illusions, starts my tears.
Well, maybe my tears can provide the birds with drink.

At five in the morning
in peeps
bona fide sunshine
thru my blanket
& my eye,
lowly it loafs
on the street,
out spaces
the early
innocence,
gangster gal,
anything you say
from now on
can be used
against you.

Maybe a dust bowl
burning in nature’s airfryer,
it’s not the end,
something’s crawling out of a hole.
Maybe a fire within and without,
a howling wind about,
there’s always another thing
crawling out of a hole.
Maybe a flood, ages of rain
with a tornado as a premium.
Down deep it crouches
crawling out of a hole.
Maybe a landslide
taking a town or two,
it looks big that’s all,
it’s the tiny thing that’s
crawling out of a hole.
Maybe a mental eclipse,
a black out, a white out,
a skyscraper crashing down,
there’s a wisp of a ghost
crawling out of a hole.

God works in ways mysterious to himself, a toothless drifter thought.

There's God, sitting on a cloud, doing nothing. Oh well, he's lightly pampered by angels and heavily pestered by Satan. The angels were just cuddling up and Satan was chewing his guts. Out of the blue, down in the mud they call earth, a young girl cried. Swat! God landed at the child's feet. Bunny broke his paw, she cried. Oh no, child, what can I do? Can't you mend it? Eh, I can cry with you. Now a double wailing commenced. And what do you know, this siren woke up the neighborhood doctor. Shoof! God rocketed back up to his cloud. He sat there, wondering what happened.

God works in ways mysterious to himself, the eyeless drifter thought.

There's God, sitting on a cloud, doing nothing. The angels clickclacked him to sleep and Satan drove a freight train through his head. Out of the blue, down in the mud they call earth, a man stood ready to throw himself in front of a train. Splat! God landed next to the rails. Don't do it, you're gonna die. That happens to be the plan. How did you know? Eh, I got my connections. Like, in wireless? Yeah. Just then the train passed. Hey, you made me miss my train. Shwoosh! God rocketed back to his cloud. He sat there, wondering what happened.

God works in ways mysterious to himself, the moneyless drifter thought.

There's God, sitting on a cloud, doing nothing. The angels showered his back with hot honeyed water and Satan slammed his shoulders with burning hooks. Out of the blue, down in the mud they call earth, an old person was lost. Shwam! God landed next to the old person. No, wait, he landed right on top of him. Or her? He couldn't tell. Now we're lost together, one of them said. Who? Well, you figure that out for yourself.

God works in ways mysterious to himself, the worryless drifter said. Suddenly he found himself in the midst of a street fest. The angels sang and danced with the Adorable Idiots Band and Satan gave away his Fire Fries and Brimstone Burgers. The drifter swung and swayed with his mouth full.

Look, there's God, the Bunny Child said to his mama. Tuttut, the mama said, no, that can't be, that poor man's just happy for a change.