I can read her lips.
Each word formed
With the red and ivory embouchures
That play to my lust.
My mouth moves in sync:
I think, she says,
The blind old perv, she continues,
Has binoculars.

We're kinda small,
But we can be tall,
And play with the switches
On the walls.

We can run.
Ready. Set. Go.
You'll never catch us,
Don't you know.

We can reach anything
Out of reach.
We ride our bikes on our street.
We sometimes laugh until we ***.
We get our bruises riding scooters.
We're one on our teeter-totter.
We see-saw you.

I look forward to the re-enactments of historic moments in the pageant of The United States of America. [sic]

Gettysburg, Crossing the Delaware, The Moon Landing, Paul Revere's Ride, The March on Washington, The Storming of the Capital, The Clearing of Lafayette Plaza, The George Floyd ******, The Separation of Families, The Arizona Re-count, The Plot to Assassinate Democratic Governors, The Imprisonment of: Jared, Donny, Eric, Ivanka, Don, Carlson, Greene, Gaetz, Guilianni, Hannity, Conway, McVeigh, Barr [sic] (just to mention a few of the Founding ****-Ups.), the death of 650,000 people (the vast majority being innocent), The Pandemic of the Unvaxxed [sic]

After July 4, 2024, History may never be the same. See it now!

I have today grown old.
I was never told,
Make every day count.
I counted days,
Missed some years,
My advice may fall on deaf ears
To those who know how to live their lives.
Everyday. Everyway.
It's not easy.
I recognize the mantle
On my children's faces;
See them counting milestones,
Running theirs through the paces.
How do I tell them
Count every day,
and not count every day;
But make every day count?

Alone is my operative word.
It works well in a Republic,
With all those booths and secret ballots.
In Autocracies we are wise to keep to ourselves.
I'm relieved to be on my own
With what I think and what I do.
With others, I'm never alone.
I don't have far away looks;
I'm not fully engaged with me;
I can be spotted in a crowd.
I'm part of the gathering, and so,
I repress alone thoughts and actions.
If you're not looking my way,
I'm still not alone.
Some say they're alone in a crowd.
I don't get it.
I so get:
Shunned. Outcast. Alienated. Isolated. Fringed. Outed.
I knew when someone had the cooties.
But I'm not. I'm beside myself. Next to an idiot.
I'll never leave me alone.

Kathleen Avenue still has houses,
But people left, and trees were felled;
The canopy across the street
Has lost some limbs
And many feet
Of children
Playing hide and seek.

One house, a brown-shingled frame
Is aging there as are our names;
The front yard doesn't boast corn
That Daddy grew
When first we landed;
Not knowing neighbours were offended
With farming behind green picket fences.

      so corn, cabbage and turnip too
      were left to rot. Daddy knew to
      strike when hot.

The locals weren't too much impressed
When Daddy taught them some respect.
The human smell of decaying turnip
Turned noses down that stood straight up. The front was never farmed again.
    
Recently, I passed that yard,
The picket fences gone;
And someone has a garden there,
The new arrivals,
If they care,
Really see the wisdom there.
I give a nod
To my Old Man,
An immigrant
Before his time.

I'm not unhinged
To consider gates,
And which side I'm on;
Who's allowed in, or out.
If a gate's open,
Do we rush or seep in?
Uncle Frank's gate leads to his plush meadow.
That's how I envision the Pearly Gates
With a slight squeak as they slowly close
On all the lies outside;
Souls sticking a foot between the gate and the post
While banging on the bars.
But the toes don't lie.