I write in praise of forgotten men
who died before life disappointed them.
They rose before dawn in June of the war
on the sixth day back in Forty four.
Packed like cattle, ferried cross water,
to a beach in France where so many were slaughtered.
These men, boys really, never fathered a child
or Loved or were loved in the usual style.
Was it for love of country? A misplaced sense of pride?
That encouraged their acts kin to suicide?
Omaha beach ran slick with their blood.
Each of the fallen was some mother's son.
The objectives were taken. The battle was won.
The beachhead secured by the set of the Sun.
Dog tags were retrieved from the necks of the dead.
but all of the focus was on the Generals who led.
For the rest there was space in the Green fields of France.
In rows of white crosses there's no second chance.
They rest here forever, the true heroes of war,
from Omaha Beach back in June Forty Four.

That August night, too hot for even a sheet,
the only light the red glow of
Your post ****** cigarette,
A strand of red hair strayed across your face..
The valley of your ******* was sweet with sweat.
This last time we would ever be together.
We would not make an occasion of regret
We were both more silent than usual that night.
Each knowing that to speak would break the spell.
In time we would forget each others flaws.
Choosing to remember just the Love
But this is where we kissed and said goodbye
And left for separate cities where we dwell
On nights like this I’ll muse what might have been
But wanting what you have is just as well.

Yes means Yes, and No means No
It has not been forever so.
Once Yes meant Yes and No meant Maybe
(But that oft resulted in a baby.)
If your fling was started in a bar
You’re judged a ****** by Cali law.
As guilty, per this legal muddle,
As if a struggle came before the snuggle.
If your date has had one glass
That’s an illegal forward pass!                                                                                                           Higher employment I foresee
At the bureau of Sexuality
Before you can couple legally,
File these forms and pay a fee.
Regulatory overkill
assumes young Women lack free will,
Young men are safer watching ****
and curse that Brown was ever born.

If they weren’t in the Polo grounds, the drive was a home run..
Don Liddle served a meatball and Wertz swung and thought it gone.
But Willie Mays thought otherwise and raced towards the wall.
Improbably, impossibly, he caught Vic Wertz’s ball.
He turned to throw; his cap flew off, as Doby raced for third.
When Grisson relieved Liddle, Liddle quipped:” I got my man.”
That the Indians were dispirited you well can understand.
That inning turned the series as Cleveland didn’t score.
The Giants won that game in ten and swept the Tribe in four.
Of all who played the game that day, a precious few remain.
The man who made “The Catch” still lives; forever will his fame.

“Number Two, Derek Jeter, Number two. “said the disembodied voice.
A man on second, one man out, It was Showalter’s choice.
He could walk Derek Jeter, choosing to pitch to McCann.
The choice would be unpopular, not that he gave a ****.
With no one warming in the pen, Buck chose to roll the dice.
Derek had two R.B.I., another would be nice.
Antoun danced off second base, Meek delivered fast and low.
Jeter punched it to right field, where else would it go?
Antoun raced around third base and dove headfirst for home.
The crowd roared at the signal “Safe “and they were not alone..
The Captain leapt up in the air, the moment we’ll remember,
our pleasure in an otherwise forgettable September.
He will not take the field again; his time at Short is done.
A handful of at bats remain before his race has run.
Bob Sheppard will go silent now, that voice beyond the grave,
The night that Robertson got the win, and Jeter got the save.

Your fire red lips should have caused me alarm-
or the smoldering look in your eyes.
You lured me away from the bar where we met,
I was having a beer with the guys.
There was the faint hint of smoke in your hair
But, in Vegas, that’s par for the course.
I shouldn’t have listened to your siren song
But I’m a free man, just divorced.
Besides, I’ve heard it said
That a redhead in bed
Is about the best lover you’ll find.
When her burning bush beckoned
Who was I to resist?
I’m not in the monogamous bind.
Now I’m bound and I’m gagged
and secured to her bed.
From this pyre I never will rise.
She’s just emptied the last of that
Five gallon can.
Her lit mtch will complete
my demise.
“I hope you don’t mind
That I leave you behind.”
She said as the flames start to roar.
“your Ex is a far better lover than you.”
She laughed as she walked through the door.

I camped out to be first on line at Apple’s flagship store.
Sleeping days on concrete had left me stiff and sore.
Now all was fine, I was first in line, They handed me the phone.
Envious glances all around, I am the first to own.
A local news reporter asked me if I would hold up my prize.
They broadcast live on New York One. My joy is undisguised.
But my joy turned to horror as the phone slipped from my hand
and smashed on Apple’s
smooth
tiled
floor.
I’m an unlucky man.
You’ve seen me on the internet,
the video went viral.
Don’t bother calling,
why interrupt me
in
my
downward
spiral.