After a hiatus of countless years
plus an additional
almost three months
since a major makeover,
(I experienced the magic
wrought courtesy
a bonafide big hearted
beautician at Salon Nova
located in beautiful
downtown Limerick, Pennsylvania

to render my straggly long hair
cut about twelve inches shorter),
whereby a mensch looked back at me,
a gorgeous reflection mirror reflection
yours truly returned to the mecca
Thomas Paine would feel right at home,
and surprisingly enough
a small number of attendees
at said name sake Unitarian Fellowship
nevertheless recognized me,

(and remembered my late mother
Harriet Harris,who passed away
twenty years ago come May 5th, 2025)
ushering yours truly courtesy older,
yet nevertheless familiar faces
while jesters tumbled and unrolled figurative
Scottish Tartan welcome mat
and provided a warm welcome.

As a small boy
parents of ours
(mine two siblings
included then and now,
an older and younger sister)
attended the Main Line Unitarian Church,
(a general hunch we regularly
made our appearance
at aforementioned site
during late 1960's early 1970's)
816 S Valley Forge Road, Devon, PA 19333,
when the then minister Mason McGinnis
facilitated the program.

Skads of decades,
née scores of years elapsed
since boyhood found me heading
(more accurately prodded),
thence shuttled to age appropriate classroom,
albeit informally structured learning environment.

Chronologically doddering oldest people
(such as fathers, mothers,
gray haired grandparents...)
plus young adults
bid their charges goodbye, albeit temporarily
as their younger kin got gently routed
to one out of quite numerous
ample size preschool/nursery room.

Infants, babies, young kids
i.e. most easily antsy, distracted, oblivious,
when days of our live young and restless
(unbeknownst to those recipients)
got their inchoate intellect sparked.

Their coerced, coddled (molly),
and coaxed... reluctance rewarded
(aside from with sweet treat)
courtesy lofty, mighty, nifty...
young rabbit ears raptly attuned
(most like a couple seconds maximum at most)
feigning listening at (iterated above)
Minister Mason McGinnis
who always gave rousing sermon.

If not him, perhaps a previously
scheduled guest speaker
enlightened, enhanced, enchanted... audience.

Nonetheless upon attaining mine prepubescence,
or thereabouts, (and most definitely
when yours truly crossed his horrendous,
perilous tumultuous wretched pubescent Rubicon
marking naturally ordained metamorphosis),
they abruptly ceased mandating
what both parents considered
(as well this middle aged son
recognized in retrospect –
cuz hindsight of mine always 20/20),
a golden opportunity to mingle,
and perhaps even (horrific as this reads)
befriend shy lads similar to yours truly.

I felt quite at home being attended, pacified,
pampered, and pulled up by bootstraps.

Without warning this baby boomer
invariably, suddenly felt shell shocked
and zapped courtesy post traumatic stress disorder
incurred while in utero.

Suddenly out of the blue,
paralyzing horror found this AARP eligible cardholder
aghast with fright as if scary
boogie woogie bugle boy monster mash
(with cooties) prowled premises on the lurch
to spring summat ploy.

Nightmarish visitations
while finding my religion
(crept along the edge of night
regarding dark shadows
from outer limits of twilight zone)
extolling virtues regarding return of native son
also witnessed me
being precariously hoisted,
and (analogous to dangling modifier)
suspended me in mid air by my own petard.