It’s five o’clock in the morning,
coffee's already made.
It's gonna be warm in the valley
90 degrees in the shade.
The sunlight's creepin' in right through my window pane.
The coffee gets me going
so I can fight the world again.

It’s a daily ritual that passes
as I reach out for my glasses
and scan the front page headlines
for news that offends.
The world has so many problems,
we don’t seem to address.
If I had all the answers,
I would fix them all by myself.

You nurture my soul with peace and hope.
You keep my body whole
as we travel this long, long road.

Have you heard what they’ve done up at the mines ?
They’ve scarred the mountainside.
And driven away the elk and dear,
I’m afraid we’re next in line.

But I have you and that’s all that matters.
My haven in the storm,
a calm in troubled waters,
a home to keep us safe and warm.

Tonight when I get home
we'll dine under the stars.
I’ll say how much I love you
and how wonderful you are.

One, two, three, four...
The dream shakes you down to your core.
Eyes open, breath in breath out, jerky.
Panic attack, heart thumping, sweaty.
Reach out .. bottle, pills, water.
Feel the lorazepam flying through your veins.
It’s not the same, no not the same...

It takes a few minutes for the calming effect
to convince me it was just a nightmare.
The same dream I’ve had for two years.
It visits me regularly like an old friend, but not friendly.
I try to sleep, cloak myself with the dark of night
that blankets me like a layer of comfort, a soothing.
I exhale, feel my breath rush out, relieving my fright.
I imagine a creak on the stair, was it real ?
Panic rises again.
I’m alone.
He’s here !

If it weren’t for the drugs,
I'd scream until the windows shattered.

Wait...it's  just the cat.

That was spectacular, honey !

You're welcome, sweetie !

It’s been years since you’ve left,
I feel that I’ve been able to move on
but the phantom pain in my chest
reminds me that you are truly gone.
I must admit I’ve missed you
even more than I can bear.
Like when I walk into your old room,
do I imagine your scent still in the air ?
I’ve finally boxed all your clothes,
I plan to drop them off today.
They are the last vestiges of you,
the physical remnants of your time here.
And it takes all I can do
to not feel so bereft and alone,
but the phantom pain in my chest
reminds me you’re truly gone.

I heard three knocks on the door.
It was late, the fog crept over the porch.
The front door, poorly lit,
lent a shadow.
I called out , who’s there
and why have you come at this late hour ?
I have come for you, a voice whispered.

Fear struck through my body like a bolt.
I could not move and yet I had to see
what the next minutes would hold.

Another three knocks on the door,
ominous in its raps, insistent and steady.
The shadow moved against the light on the drape.
A slight breeze stirred the fog against the window's pane.
I dropped down on the floor.
Why have you come, I asked again.

I have come for you, the voice replied.

Half the country was conceived in the back of a Chevy.
In the dim lights of a drive-in movie
we would steal moments of bliss.
And in our youth we promised forever with every kiss.
Was it so long ago ?
Ages for you and me.
Pages written in ink
and stained in tears
in your secret diary.

Come hell or high water.
I lived my life as I saw fit.
Never looking back,
well, perhaps just a bit.
It's not my intention to steal the past
but I’m not fooling myself,
not for a minute.
This gig's not gonna last.

Come hell or high water
I'm gonna take it all.
I'll take the back roads,
take the highways,
before I fall.
Then suddenly I found I was in a bad place on a good day.
I stood on my toes as I faced the grim reaper.
I said get on now,
'cause I’m not ready to go.

It feels like I’m speeding,
things are going way too fast.
I need to slow it down a bit
and make the good things last.
From one day to the next
its almost a blur.
Gotta tap on the brakes
or I’ll miss that next curve.
If I find another hill to climb
that just might work.
My motor's in overdrive,
all systems on high alert.

But that’s life they say
when you’re traveling downhill,
with a tailwind behind you
caught up with a full sail.
If I could just ease off
maybe time would slow down.
I’d like to try all over again
and go another round.
I’d do it different this time
and savor the sweet things,
toss my cares away with a fling,
hear the bells go ting-a-ling.

Don’t let this bring you down
'cause I am a happy soul.
I’ve been put through the grinder
and I still came out whole.
It's enough to know that I’m happy
and filling someone else’s heart.
Think of me with a smile, not sadly,
when the time comes that I must part.
Yes, it’ll happen one day
I know that for sure,
now from here on out and to the end,
it’ll be just a blur.

If we could do  no wrong,
there would be no virtue in doing right.
In a world without pain,
there would not be compassion.
If we had no troubles to face,
there would not be a need for love.
In a world with no future,
there would be no children.
But there are all those things
and that is life.
And we must choose the good,
for that is the hardest choice.

It was about a quarter to dawn.
A thin slice of moon still hung in the sky.
Another day, another battle.
It seems to be a constant struggle.
A thin line of red marked his chin.
A piece of tissue stuck on the stubble,
like a white flag of surrender.
Give up, some times you just can’t win.
Eggs, coffee, bagel toasted light.
He gets a kiss on the way out.
Enjoy your day, she says, I’ll see you tonight.

Up in the next town
the driver starts the mighty diesel,
his load ready for a long trip.
The roar of the engine
takes him on to the highway,
merging with other nameless faces,
aglow by the dim light of their phones,
heading off into oblivion and other places.

It starts to snow, a spec at first.
Then lit by his headlights, it appears
like heavy drops of white lace.
Hypnotic as it falls lightly then with force, strong.
The sun breaking through a ribbon of blue black clouds.
A crack of yellow white stabs the lingering night. Dawn.

10 miles in, he rubs the red line on his chin.
Radio's up, talk is cheap, he likes the light banter.
Thankfully traffic's light, it's Wednesday
in the middle of nowhere.
Meetings scheduled, a full day's agenda.
He barely saw the deer as it flew over his fender.

From the opposite direction
the trucker bore down, intent on his load.
The fog on his windshield grudgingly offered a view
of the snow coated, still dark road.

With a maddening squeal, the air brakes caught hold.
The trailer sashayed like a dreamy teenaged girl
dancing to a slow country song.
Sliding ever faster, moving along
the ice unforgiving in that bitter cold.
Closer to the middle and then into the oncoming lane,
the talk show host continued his political refrains.

The two collided like fate had planned
from the very moment that time began.
The meetings would be cancelled, the future unsure.
They would both survive, the semi driver and he,
with the cut on his chin forgotten, the past now a blur.

Live for the moment they say, love for eternity.
Plan for regrets, for there’s no assurance, no certainty.
Your day may not end as you would have planned,
for we are all surely in God's hands.

There was a man who lived in the Thirties.
He claimed he had lost all he had to attorneys
due to a bitter fight with a long gone ex
who caught him chasing women and having ***.
He had to hightail it outta town overnight.
Figured it was that or to stick around and fight.

So he rode the rails from town to town,
never staying long enough to settle down.
He was what they used to call back then, a hobo.
Not quite a *** but certainly low brow.

It was a hot summer's day down in San Berdoo
(that’s San Bernadino to you)
He walked down a backstreet,  just one of a few
like others with packs on their backs
looking for work - maybe hire on with a road crew.

He spotted a pug-nosed, three-legged dog
that tailed him for at least two blocks.
A curious little thing that shuffled when it walked.
Thinking it was lost or far from its home,
the owner not aware it might have been gone,
he filled a pan of water for the dog to drink.
It gave him pause to stop and think.

What was the story of this deformed pup ?
How had it lost its leg and wound up
roaming the streets scavenging for a bite to eat ?
Just about then, the man thought he heard a voice
come out from that pug-nose's throat.
"I’ve got a secret to share", it said, more like a boast.
The man could not believe his ears.
A talking dog, he thought.
I’m done for....I’m toast !

It’s a typical gloomy Seattle day
Not quite rainy, the sky a sooty, pearly haze.
At least it’s not the cold
that bites into bones
now weakened from age,
seven decades all told.

He walked along the streets cluttered
with tents and blue tarp,
belongings in grocery carts,
life on the run.
"Where did they come from ?", he thought.
They couldn’t have started like this.
That woman there with dull and silvered, matted hair.
Was she once a lovely miss ?
She’s given up or has lost hope,
maybe into drugs, going down a slippery *****.

It’s a compelling urge for him to help.
Something basic in human nature
to give directions to someone lost.
A bit of his time and maybe a fiver.
What would it cost to buy her a meal
A burger, some fries...not a big deal.

It would make me feel better, he thinks.
She looks up at him now,
staring blankly, doesn’t even blink.
He doesn’t even feel the cold steel
that slips into his side.
The woman’s mate grunts as he collects the blade,
not caring what damage was made,
but quickly searching for something of worth
from the stranger who invaded their turf.

It’s a typical gloomy Seattle day
Not quite rainy, the sky a sooty, pearly haze.

We lived in a mid-sized town
on a street called Elm.
Lined with trees that shaded sidewalks,
that cooled the summer heat
and kept the sun from burning your lawn.

The homes were all similar.
Built in the Fifties to house
veterans returning from both wars.
Dad came home with a grin,
presenting his new Chevy Bel Air,
turquoise and white with wide sidewalls.
I had to move my bike lying in the driveway
where I was told to keep it off
but somehow it always found its way back

We had a cocker called Molly
who wiggled her **** whenever she’d spot
you coming home, a small arf and a wag of her tail.
I had an older brother that tolerated me.
Every once in a while he’d tussle my hair
and called me kid,
even though he was only two years my senior.

Saturdays were my favorite.
Mom doled out our allowance.
Fifty cents was a big deal.
It would buy us a Saturday afternoon serial,
popcorn, red vines and pop.
So much for saving for a rainy day.

We lived close to Main street, just a few blocks away.
I loved to browse the hardware store,
smelling the newly greased wrenches,
tanned leather gloves, and work boots.

My friends and I all ran in a pack
and returned home at dusk,
usually just in time to smell the roast as mom
pulled it out of the oven.
Dinner was laid out on a chrome and red formica table
with matching chairs.
Molly sat close, eager for a small treat.

Memories, I have many.
Regrets, only a few.

I’ve been hearing how things are going from bad to worse.
We remember how good the days were when we lived in the past.
But each new day brings a promise and each new path opens a door.
We need to do a bit better,
care a bit more,
expect a bit less and
love like only a child can love.
Then graciously receive the bounty that’s in store.