The Center
of the Universe
is no longer there

It blew up
a long time ago

There is no better way
to do heavy lifting
than with a machine

or perform countless repetitive tasks
or manufacture microscopic objects
or handle toxic substances
or fly across an ocean

or accomplish a variety of
actions that humans
can't or won't do

And we rely on machines
to do what we tell them
when and where
and how and why
we decide
without fail
and without error

Machines outperform
humans for such purposes
and are more reliable,
consistent and
cost-effective as well

They do require maintenance
and spare parts
but nothing like health care
and benefits that humans demand

And they can be upgraded
or replaced without fear
of lawsuits or labor unions
or semiautomatic rifles and
sacks full of magazines

They are almost perfect
and better than humans
in many ways

But they can't laugh
or cry or sing
the way we do

they can't get angry
or sad or happy
or feel emotion
the way we do

they can't love
or break your heart
the way we do

and they can't
make you feel
the way you do
when you come home
from work and your
daughter comes
running to the door
shouting, "Daddy's home!!!!!!"

Not in a million years

So humans are actually
far better than machines
in the ways that matter
and the imperfections,
shortcomings, idiosyncrasies,
flaws in our character, mistakes
we make and an endless list
all prove that we are human
and capable of all these
things that machines
can't or won't do

And I am thankful
that I am not some
perfect, error free
switch-on-switch-off
low maintenance
obedient, emotionless
and highly repetitive
tool that strives
to be a machine
because I would rather
take pride in mistakes
I make and be human

especially when
I come home

Iyam wud Iyam.

After decades
of believing that adulthood
is the end of childhood
my skin is telling me
it's time to grow

There is no beauty
in pretense

only the fleeting
mask of some
shameful truth

there's a breeze blowing
down the moonswept plain
rippling through rows
of ripening wheat

as the sun shines slowly low
and thin across the horizon
bathing the land in silver
stark and lightning blue

its rays tug at heavy lids
and shine upon
a mirage floating hazy
far off in the distance

while night washes down
my waking eyes telling me
i'll be there before it
sees me again

and fades to whispers
from the sun
to an empty sky

i'm coming home

The night before my father died,
he told my mother that he was
the Happiest Man in the World

He had been satisfied
that each of his children
had found his and her own way
toward happiness
in their chosen paths

It didn't matter that his own life
was fading, and that soon, too soon,
there would be nothing left for him

So when I think about my own
children, I am reminded of my father
and I understand, whatever thoughts
I may have about my own wants
and needs begin to fade away

All I see are my children's faces
and what makes them laugh
and smile as they go
their own way
while I become
the Happiest Man in the World