Canto I. Long ago and far away...

Under the bridge across the Kankakee River, Grampa found me. I was busted for truancy. First grade. 1946.

Summer and after school: Paper route, neighborhood yard work, dogsbody in a drugstore, measuring houses for the county, fireman EJ&E railroad, janitor and bottling line Pabst Brewery Peoria. 1952-1962.

Fresh caught Mississippi River catfish. Muddy Yummy. Burlington, Iowa. 1959. Best ever.

In college, Fr. ***** usually confused me with my roommate, Al. Except for grades. St. Procopius College, 1958-62. Rats.

Coming home from college for Christmas. Oops, my family moved a few streets over and forgot to tell me. Peoria, 1961.

The Pabst Brewery lunchroom in Peoria, a little after dawn, my first day. A guy came in and said: "Who wants my horsecock sandwich? ****, this first beer tastes good." We never knew how many he drank. 1962.

At grad school, when we moved into the basement with the octopus furnace, Dave, my roommate, contributed a case of Chef Boyardee spaghettios and I brought 3 cases of beer, PBRs.  Supper for a month. Ames. 1962.

Sharon and I were making out in the afternoon, clothes a jumble. Walter Cronkite said, " President Kennedy has been shot…”. Ames, 1963.

I stood in line, in my shorts, waiting for the clap-check. The corporal shouted:  "All right, you *******, Uncle and the Republic of Viet Nam want your sorry *****. Drop 'em".  Des Moines. Deferred, 1964.

Married and living in student housing. Packing crate furniture. Pammel Court, 1966.

One of many undistinguished PhD theses on theoretical physics. Ames. 1967.

He electrified the room. Every woman in the room, regardless of age, wanted him, or seemed to. The atmosphere was primeval and dripping with desire. In the presence of greatness. Palo Alto, 1968.

US science jobs dried up. From a mountain-top, beery conversation, I got a research job in Germany. Boulder, 1968. Aachen, 1969.

The first time I saw automatic weapons at an airport. Geneva, 1970.

I toasted Rembrandt with sparkling wine at the Rijksmuseum. He said nothing. Amsterdam International Conference on Elementary Particles. 1971.

A little drunk, but sobering fast: the guard had Khrushchev teeth.
Midnight, alone, locked in a room at the border.
Hours later, release. East Berlin, 1973. Harrassment.

She said, "You know it's remarkable that we're not having an affair." No, it wasn't. George's wife.  Germany, 1973.

"Maybe there really are quarks, but if so, we'll never see them." Truer than I knew.  Exit to Huntsville, 1974.

On my first day at work, my first federal felony. As a joke, I impersonated an FBI agent. What the hell? Huntsville. 1974. Guess what?-- No witnesses left! 2021.

Hard work, good times, difficult times. The first years in Huntsville are not fully digested and may stay that way.

The golden Lord Buddha radiated peace with his smile. Pop, pop. Shots in the distance. Bangkok. 1992.

Accomplishment at work, discord at home. Divorce. Huntsville. 1994. I got the dogs.

New beginnings, a fresh start, true love and life-partner. Huntsville. 1995.

Canto II. In the present century...

Should be working on a proposal, but riveted to the TV. The day the towers fell and nearly 4000 people perished. September 11, 2001.

I started painting. Old barns and such. 2004.

We bet on how many dead bodies we would see. None, but lots of flip-flops and a sheep. Secrets of the Yangtze. 2004

I quietly admired a Rembrandt portrait at the Schiphol airport. Ever inscrutable, his painting had presence, even as the bomb dogs sniffed by. Beagles. 2006.

I’ve lost two close friends that I’ve known for 50-odd years. There aren’t many more. Huntsville. 2008 and 2011.

Here's some career advice: On your desk, keep a coffee cup marked, "No Whining", that side out. Third and final retirement. 2015.

I occasionally kick myself for not staying with physics—I’m jealous of friends that did. I moved on, but stayed interested. Continuing.

I’m eighty years old and walk like a duck. 2021.

Letter: "Your insurance has lapsed but for $60,000, it can be reinstated provided you are alive when we receive the premium." Life at 81. Huntsville, 2022.

Canto III: Coda

Honest distortions emerging from the distance of time. The thin comfort of fading memories. Thoughts on poor decisions and worse outcomes. Not often, but every now and then.

(Begun May 2016)

written April 20, 2015

"Despiteful
Disdainful
Disrespectful
Distressed
Those that can't comprehend, are those being repressed
Those who only believe what they see and don't perceive that they're deemed to fall into those dreams and realities of those who they call leaders
But we're all cowards
Falling into each others words like lovers falling for each other
Sisters, mothers, and brothers
We're all one
But one does not mean together
When you're a follower
You see,
Our thoughts are twined together as children being fed Spaghettios that spell out the words we are forced fed to believe in
c o r r u p t i o n
Yummy
Yet what are we really entitled to in this life?
A ****** good career, college education, a wife?
What's been said is done and what's been branded into our minds as a life worth living
Is no where close to a life we're living
An office job, long hours, rarely sleeping at night
A beautiful woman by your side, yet no time for the night
Three caring children you adore, yet abhor their ability to block you out
Care free living is all they want
Yet your rules and ridicules are getting in the way of the way they want to be
Care free living is what they see
No curfew and "no tv"
It's obscene
So feed the children plain Cheerios and have them know their opinions are brought up in life
And everything you say is neither wrong nor right
And that the world is not this wonderful place it's brought out to be
Because freedom isn't  quite as free as it may seem"

i don't want to know your name
nor do i care who the ******* are, what makes you you
and i don't want to know that you can't eat spaghettios anymore because they made you throw up one time a couple years ago;
i'm not curious about your little secrets
and i certainly dont give a **** about your family tree

and i'll gently hold your face in my hands one more time tonight,
but you shouldn't expect to pick apart my brain after the lights turn on and the music stops playing  

( i watched my sanity drop like a disco ball onto your cement floor into ten million little pieces while the cats licked them off the ground and i just sat there and watched, i couldn't even move. )

It was spaghettios
When they were good
It wasn't the hood
But broke country with Tom Pettios

Kickin' it like depression
Domestic abuse in a
High rise

No money for bills
Daddy's gonna rob a bank
Make it alright
Two parents, one fight

Only one makes it alive
Courts decide

Oatmeal, daily
There's no surprise
Except fifth birthday
Last time Daddy sings

Now I'll get married
But I don't want
No diamond ring

Thirty Two Years
I'm built like a burlap sack full of mongrel pups.
Too bad the arroyo is dry
I live in a stucco mudpile  where the kitchen linoleum peels up like iguana skin.
I wanted wicker and stained glass.
Too fragile for the lions that roar on my savannah.
I can drink and curse most men unconcious.
I'm nothing like that drunken S.O.B. you married
Whose every nasty habit crawls out of my skin unbidden.
So unlike your high school sweetie.
How amazing that genes can lie.

I sing seventies soul in the shower.
Cry poetry in twilight
This tenor voiced soprano warms with age.
When I'm forty I'll sing like Tina Turner.
WishI was black so I'd have legs like that.
I wanted a spotlight.

Drowning in a testosterone saturated puddle
Of synchronized farting, moco noses
And hot wheels sprouting from the carpet
I nurture till it hurts
Yes, you can raise tadpoles in the baby pool
Say "please and thank you".
Blow that nose in your tissue not your sleeve.
I love you, I'm so proud you can count to infinity.
Your eyes are bluer
You'll be taller
You're smarter than I was at your age.

Mama, you never let me be better than you
Ten fingers and toes, all you said you wanted - wasn't enough to make you whole.
I am a bogle in your basement
What color is the bad sheep when she's the only one?
A faded white reminder of your own failures
Captured in those curling Kodak moments
Your lithe arms draped over me
Your eyes focused on the Guy du Jour
Never felt my own small heart beating
Above the thunder of your own.
My mouth full of lava soap and spaghettios
Never able to question your omnipotence.

You still shriek in my dreams, Mama.
A jade eyed banshee screaming for a soul I cannot give you.
I never close my eyes.

I kiss my boys damp curls while they sleep
One tousled froth of lemon merangue
One butterscotch sweet against my lips.
Perfect love.
I wonder if you ever felt that ache in your heart  for me?
As you yanked that wire brush through my bristley mane
Or smacked my young *** with it?
Give me one more chance to nuzzle against you
And look up into eyes as bright as new leaves.
Let me see myself as a perfect reflection of you.
In my heart, we are whole...

TL Boehm
3/18/98

I am from the  falls of new hope
the buffer zone
from 15 minutes any direction

I am from the backroads
from the meeting of two hills
And cities, several others
I am from nowhere, yet I am close to everything

I am from the riverwalk, where the red wolves wander
From bare feet and wet clothes
From an acre, from a forest

I am from the chaos and unconditional welcoming
From mint chocolate chip ice cream and spaghettios
from doors that don’t lock
Large pots, lots of cars
and six of everything

I am from home, not a place but a feeling
I’m from the honeysuckle
I’m from coffee and tea
I am from separation and celebration
“each end is a new beginning”

I’m from the falls of new hope
The one with the cherry tree
the magnolia mailbox out front