My brother-in-law was a chauffeur.
He loved cars since he was a teen.
My sister Clare thought he looked handsome
at the wheel of a Lynch Limousine.
For years he drove town cars to airports.
He was courteous and impeccably dressed.
He loved New York’s bridges and byways,
And he rated among the best.
Later in Life, Tom drove Corporate.
A CEO rode in the back.
The job had appeal; Tom was still at the wheel.
And nothing was better than that.
Then, when Semi-retired, Tom drove school buses
shepherding Pre-Teens to class.
A task unappealing to many of us,
But Tom always had parents trust.
Even his hobby revolved around cars;
Tom owned vintage automobiles.
His black 40’ Chevy appeared in parades
with, as usual, Tom at the wheel.

This day, a sad day, Tom will take his last ride
In a Cadillac, polished and black.
This day another will be doing the driving;
This day Tom will be riding in back.

Today I came upon this word
which at first blush may sound absurd.
It means you're tookered, all worn out,
at the end of your tether without a doubt.

So if you're too tired to seek even pleasure.
Quanked is a word that takes your measure.
Exhaustion has a new adjective
If you care to comment- please, no invective!

Debt be not proud, though lenders label thee
useful and powerful, for thou art not so.
For those poor souls who take your ready dough
Pay not Principal, just interest and the fees.
Unlike cash wealth and true liquidity
Which, in sum, denote prosperity,
Your burden would enthrall them where they go
And collection agents nightly tell them so.
Your rates are slave to a data dependent Fed,
and you are a poison consigning men to Hell.
Cash wages are what we need to slumber well,
Free of this debt incurred with the stroke of a pen.
One more loan payment and we 'll eschew your fee.
Then Debt shall be no more. We’ll be debt Free.

Belfast is a bustling town where big muscled men make ships of steel.
Down on the Quay we come today to bid farewell and see you off.
You have your suit case in your hand. I see you wore your Sunday best.
If you were lying in your casket you could not be better dressed.
So kiss your Mum a sad goodbye and shake your Father’s hand.
You have your ticket in your pocket to take you to a distant land.
You siblings and your kin have come to wish you well and say goodbye.
To raise a parting glass with you; in truth nobody is dry eyed.
Off with you now to America, Where a young man has space to dream.
Your mother bravely waves good bye. Only in private will she keen.
*******************
M­any years later, when he’d grown old, my DA returned to his native land
To see the house where he was born now just ruins and in others hands.
We visited the parish church where he had been baptized long ago.
A Celtic cross marks his parent’s grave and on their plot the wild grass grows.
Every one he’d known and loved had passed before him as if a dream.
He wept before his sister’s grave and said a prayer for my  Aunt Kathleen.
His story yet had years to run before the day came he, too, would pass.
Then relatives would gather once again and raise to John the parting glass.

She is there, I believe, behind those slate grey eyes.
Those eyes that once viewed me with Love
or with amusement.
Now, however, they see me without seeing.
She is held prisoner in a silk web of confusion.
She knows not who she is now.
She knows me not and has forgotten my name.
I visit though she forgets I ever came.
She is one who exists instead of lives.
A dear sweet girl with little left to give.
You ask me why I still come and I reply
“ I  promised my love until the day I die.”

From the first time I encountered AL, AL became my closest friend.
When my other buddies weren’t around on AL I could depend.
AL was always at my house or with me in my car;
a constant presence in my life, AL was  never very far.
When work or school caused me distress, AL would understand.
I always had the time for AL and AL was close at hand.
My other friends might disapprove, but what did they really know?
I was my best self when with AL, when I’d been feeling low.
Some tried to keep us two apart, but they could not succeed.
Having AL with me always was both a want and need.
Then came the day I crashed my car and cost my girl her life.
The police report blamed my friend AL for the death of my young wife.
I tried to rid my life of AL, but AL didn’t want to go.
My guilt, my grief, my misery made my dependence grow.
So now I sit on a wooden chair in the basement of a church.
For, you see, my “friend” named ALhas left me in the lurch.
I need to learn to love myself and deal with deep regret.
I rue the years I’ve wasted, AL; I wish we’d never met.

The battle is fought and our victory won,
My General has ordered me to run,
From Marathon’s plains to Athens Agora
to tell the elders of the battle’s outcome.
Oh gods on high grant us surcease
from threats of invasion if no true peace.
I have fought in the front line
and raced to and from Sparta in two days’ time.
Now fatigued and nearly done
I speed toward home from Marathon.
We will not suffer Eretria’s fate
Their city burned, their folk enslaved.
No! Thousands of Persians we have slain.
Our city on a hill is saved.
I’m short of breath and weak from wounds
Even as the walls of our city loom.
“Nike!” I cry! “Rejoice, we’ve won!”
As my proud heart breaks and I am done.