Her mournful eyes fixed
on some distant invisible point

In all her life
she rarely opened her arms to anyone
rarely returned affection
her heart an icy chamber
stoic, closed

Half the time she was penned up in isolation
trapped in an asylum
a life cruelly altered by thorazine
and shock treatments
her soundtrack a choir of madwomen
their voices running riot
in a snake pit

He remembers the tightrope
in ring one
A chant dulls his ears
and he falls, dreaming
A madwoman's icy fingertips
skim down the side of his head
Shrieks explode
inside his throat
Childlike, he warms himself
with brown, vibrant blankets
He can almost feel the tightrope
tugging under his feet
The memory jars him
His hand leaps endlessly
through a somersault
sky, hand to head, hand to
chest, then to thigh, while
blood spots the dirt floor

Like dying sheep, he bleats
The moans are lonely
ghastly, ricocheting off
the cold walls of his brain
remembering again the
stiff cord pressing
against his trembling frame
the taut stretch
distracting him
He stops and sees himself
carrying an aged man
to a snowy grave
He turns to watch the knife-thrower
turn the knife around
while a liquored mob shouts
Jostled, he sees memories
scatter everywhere

Withdrawing to an empty room
he craves the lack of light
the falling sensation overwhelming
the dreams collapsing around him
like an ancient ruin

Sometimes I just want to break free
from pen on paper

I want to get away from the sound of
my ancient typewriter clacking away
my fingers creating images dialogue feelings
the actor inside me wanting to
crash through

Sometimes I want to break away
from the pool of words
I want to startle someone
make them understand
my search for clarity
my desire to
take down the
fourth wall
brick
by
brick
the mad architect
shuffling through
a mass of blueprints
looking for the one
that shrieks order

it's like me
landing suddenly
on an empty island
drifting on a sunless beach
stumbling over cold shifting sand
waves roaring
strong winds pounding me
like a dazed prizefighter
going down for the count
me
lost and alone
wondering what hopeless hell i'm in now

I may as well warn you.
This poem will not end in death.
I haven't decided what it will be about.
But it won't be about death.
I don't have any desire to explain it
or peddle it
or wrap a ribbon around it.

There are so many other things to explore.
Why waste time on something no one really
knows anything about?

I'm being rhetorical.

Sort of.

Alliterative alliteration
always amuses
and excuses
my silly muses

most of the time
he drifted
in and out
of cindy's life

the man she once looked up to
was now enslaved
by the bottle
his hair receding
his face lined
his smile
furtive

he told her he had a new girl
in atlantic city
a dancer he met
in one of the resort's
endangered casinos

cindy pictured the girl as
young
brunette bangs
hard eyes
emaciated
a lap dancer
hooked on something
forbidden

the next morning
he threw a few twenties
on the kitchen table
left a note
in his hung over scrawl
about catching a
greyhound bus to a-c

he was already
out the door
on his way
to nirvana

when she read the note
all she thought was
'bye daddy...see you whenever'

late morning
we're asleep
the phone rings

i hand it to her
she tells me
it's the drugstore
her prescription's ready

later i'll remember
her voice sounding
a little weary
but there's
no pain there
no urgency
yet there's something
not right
about her voice
something disembodied
like a lost voice

a little later
when i wake up again
she's facing me
her eyes are shut
then three rapid exhalations -
three in a row -
escape from her mouth

then there's silence

i call her name
there's no response

i scream her name
nothing happens

i touch her arm
she's warm
but her eyes remain closed
her hands are still

i phone my daughter
she says call 9-1-1
9-1-1 tells me what to do
i do what they say
then rescue people show up
and take over
then they rush her
to the hospital

my daughter drives me there
we go inside
but we don't want to

we don't want to hear
what we already know

towels mingle toss tease
in an unforgiving rush of water
merrily tumbling through waves
rich with detergent

meanwhile dark fabrics twist
in an angry climactic surf
while lighter colors undulate elsewhere
in a wet frivolous frenzy

dainty lingerie -
in yet another machine -
gently sails in a delicate ballet...
whites, pinks, muted yellows and blues
intermingle playfully as they wait
for the cool rinse cycle to commence
and perform its own unique magic

finally the dryers prevail
and the folded garments rest on a table -
the warm spent players basking
in a glorious afterglow

She was a shy, detached woman
shortchanged at birth

In all her life
she never opened her arms to anyone
never returned affection
her heart an icy chamber
stoic, closed

Half the time she was penned up in isolation
trapped in an asylum
a life cruelly altered by thorazine
and shock treatments
her soundtrack a choir of madwomen
their voices running riot
in her only home -
a snake pit

She was trapped in a Bronte novel
her mournful eyes fixed
on some distant invisible point

She remained disconnected
unknowable
a doomed woman
a doomed time

November...
with its scent of burning leaves -
a month lacking light
casting shadows
everything dark and ashen

November...
always moving
edging into desolation
always moody
uncertain
a strange month
with its clouds
hovering close to the ground
filmy unwelcoming clouds rising slowly
all day
enveloping everything
by nightfall

Voices are telling me not to jump
They're loud, demanding
Crying out, beseeching me
"STOP!" they yell.  "STOP!"

A small voice inside me whispers "jump"

I'm afraid but I step forward
Swaying in the rough wind
The urgent sound of an alarm clock
Shrieks next to me -
The sound rushing through my room
Like a runaway train

My dog leaps up barking, licks my face
I sit up soaked in sweat
Disheveled, confused, shaking

A witness once again
To my own resurrection

She's a wonderful friend
And a lovely lady
And I still can't believe
She just turned eighty!

Remember me
When your courage stalls
When winds howl
And darkness falls

Remember me
When your light dims
And no one's there
Through thick or thin

Remember me
When clouds appear
And life seems hopeless
Filled with fear

I'm the voice inside you
That whispers "Move on"
The soul that guides you
To follow your song

I'm the dream you dream
Filled with hope and pride
The feelings you feel
When you're bursting inside

The trumpet of triumph
That blares you to dare
To meet a challenge
And be prepared

The steps you take
To take a stand
To do what's right
To forge a plan

So when you feel low
Be still and you'll see
I'm right there within you
Remember me

I honestly don't understand
Your riches or your fame
The entire frenzy seems to me
Entirely insane

Your voice sounds ancient and dismal
And drones on with bitter feelings
Truth be told it's not at all
What one might call appealing

I'm not a devoted follower
Who thinks you're simply grand
I think you'd do much better
With a different career plan

Avoid recording studios
Or noisy concert halls
Stay home and count your money
And forget about applause

I know you would tell me
In your snippy classless way
To shut the **** up
And quietly go away

To which I will repeat
My title's earnest cry:
No more "Hello" Adele
It's time to say "Goodbye"

In my darkest dream,
I'm wearing sunglasses at night
while I drive...
a phantom flying down freeways

During my journey I spot
Matthew McConaughey
in his glistening Lincoln chariot -
a smug smile vanishing
from his famous face
as I speed by
on my breathless trek

I will not be surpassed
or surprised
or stifled
by any mega rich superstar
or anyone else in motion...
my eyes unblinking
as I race with frightening intensity
on this endless stretch of highway

I sense that people in power
are impressed with my arrogance
and every dewy-eyed starlet
in Hollywood
falls apart at the sight
of me
masked dramatically
in my striking shades -
my music blasting
my foot on the accelerator
my destination a well kept secret

I have an image now to uphold
so splendid
so masterful
perfectly illuminated
by the glow
of a brilliant
desert moon
lighting my way
toward a golden promised land

Some victims end up in a ditch somewhere
bullet holes in their heads

Others are buried six-feet-deep
in neglected pastures
or end up drawing
a last breath
in a seedy motel room

They become falling stars
their brief bios featured on
crime shows
their sad tales
filling the airwaves
their names forgettable
histories unremarkable
victims whose renown emerges only
from their sudden shocking demise

They become fodder
for the crime junkies...
curious insomniacs
watching docudramas -
america's nightmares
playing out on millions
ot tv screens

You can sense the sheer terror
victims feel...
their eyes flickering in the dark
when someone's hands
silence them
their screams muffled by
dissonant music swelling -
a crescendo of shrieks and sounds
building toward
that awful
final fade

Dear Poet:

Your poetry
throbs
amuses
delights
irritates
stimulates
sometimes incites

Mystifies
startles
unnerves
and excites

Perfectly lofty
exquisitely right
dynamic
thrilling
burning bright
brilliant
heartwarming
whimsy in flight

Provocative
magical
forever true
magnificent
moving
engaging too

So now I'll close my letter
with a plea:

Keep writing.
Take care.

Sincerely,

Me

It blows, and suddenly the pavements are filled
With men and women going everywhere,
But none are going anywhere.

Women in pretty dresses are not going to dances.
Yesterday was long ago,
When tomorrow set shimmery curls in their hair
And summer slipped a diamond on their fingers.

Men in soiled denims are not going on safaris.
Yesterday was long ago,
When adventure held the scent of salt-air
And their names were on the roll-call of ambition.

The whistle is a smokescreen,
And somewhere, on the other side,
Lies the "Open Sesame" of youth.

I hope that I shall never see
An awful dreaded irksome flea,

A flea that feasts on helpless pets
And makes them scratch and moan and fret,

A flea that frolics on a lawn
Plotting mischief from dusk till dawn,

A cruel wingless menacing foe
Whose only joy is spreading woe.

I wish that one day I would see
A fleeting fleeing of the flea;

Trillions of them blissful at play
In a galaxy far far away.

Voices are telling me not to jump
My hands hold on to the ledge
The voices are loud, demanding
Some are crying out, beseeching me
Some are familiar, others not at all
"STOP!" they yell with inevitable urgency

I close my eyes to contemplate my fall
The shocked expressions of people
taken aback by the sight of someone
descending in a flash
as they happen to look out their windows

I'm afraid to let go now
The thought of striking a pavement
feet first (or any other way)
is a deciding factor
I just can't do this.  It's too messy

It takes what feels like forever
for most of these people to haul me up to
the balcony - two cops help me to a sofa

Maybe tomorrow I think

Where did all these people come from I wonder

Maybe not tomorrow.  Another day then

When no one is looking

Maybe I'll just go off to a motel room
somewhere in the suburbs.  Fortify myself
with something strong and bitter
swallow a shaky handful of pills
to blur my yellow streak

But no crowds next time

God my hands hurt like hell

No high-rise drama

No Dorothy Parker babble in my brain
telling me I might as well live

And no fuss

is here
shivering in the wings
of pop culture

There's no death in it
no sadness
no Dickensian heartache

There's no old man
searching for God's approval
no young man
hungry for the
jazz of life

I'm only ready now for sleep anyway
sleep that beckons
on some hazy horizon
My eyes shutting out light
My breathing labored
My fingers too weary
to hold a pen

I hear my muse urging me
to surrender to the
lure of slumber

She's telling me
this is not my last poem
and sings me to sleep
on this soulless April night

From the outset, the marriage had
been a troubling one...a springtime
honeymoon in London with frigid
winds and dark April skies only
added to the gloom.

Their rocky union consisted of
alcohol-fueled marital warfare
...arguments endlessly erupting,
the 'silent treatment' dividing
them, bitter trial separations...
but somehow something always pulled
them back together until that one awful
morning when he found her lifeless body
next to him in bed, the victim of a stroke.

Weeks later he made a shocking discovery
...her hidden journals shoved inside a
trunk in a dark corner of their cluttered
attic - diaries filled with deception,
a litany of love affairs, heartless
couplings, page after page of secret
passions featuring a  cast of paramours
catering to her every intimate whim.

And then he pondered his own romantic
intrigues slipping in and out of his
own life all those years they shared.
But he was certain she had no idea what
he'd been up to - she'd been entirely
clueless. She never mentioned them in her
private journals. She'd never accused him
of anything like that. She never knew
he'd ever been unfaithful. It was
simply not possible...
or was it?

There is no adventure in him.

He knows only that there are trees.
He does not see lumber camps
or feel the strength of men
in black checkered shirts.
He cannot touch their red leather skins
or smell their hot whiskey breaths.
He does not see logs on the river.

I have tried to speak to him of Indian canoes
and rafts on the Mississippi.
I have tried to share leaf scents
and wood-burning fires
when everything is cold outside.

But he is content to just find shade
by the northeast window.

There is no adventure in him.

Shining by the sun's reflected light,
the moon's lumpy comical face
squats over rooftops,
grins at the fate
of mere earthlings

Soon footprints of men
will mark its smirk
while this one death on earth,
sealed in slack tide,
is unhinged,
rising slowly from a pond
while arias and omens resonate
in the muggy calm

new year's eve
is way too much
too much to drink
to feel to touch

midnight comes midnight goes
time to shuck all those clothes
desire dances from dusk till dawn
new year's eve all night long

as dawn approaches
the man on the sofa wakes up

stockings are empty

living room looks like normandy
   after the invasion
crumpled gift wrap everywhere
ribbons and bows languishing
   lazily on the floor
the dog sleeping soundly like
   someone snuck her a bowl of gin

the note to santa has disappeared
like the fat turkey plopped down on
the dining room table, all prettied up
for the christmas feast

and now everyone is left with today

holiday depression ensues

the man on the sofa longs to see
something joyful, something that
says there's more to life
than the gray of winter
the chill in the wind
the loneliness of long
silent nights ahead

he knows he's old, tired,
too disillusioned about the world
to make sense of anything anymore

he feels that hope is an
endangered belief that eludes
too many people now

in defeat, in resignation, he
returns to the ultimate escape...
a peaceful, dreamless sleep far
from the uncertain present

and outside
the sun
like hope itself -
bright and glowing -
begins to rise

It was a water-cooler rumor,
an office joke circulating,
all about 'the girl in the picture' -
a framed photo on my desk.
They called her 'the mystery girl,'
a radiant blue-eyed brunette
with a beguiling smile. They
said they couldn't believe
someone so great looking would
ever have eyes for me, would
ever care about me, would ever
share my hopes and dreams. They
thought it was a lark. They even
said she didn't exist because
they never saw her, she never called
me at the office, never met me
for lunch

Tough! I thought. She's very shy,
very timid. She's an artist, she
works out of our apartment, she's
not a people person. But they didn't
believe me because I never brought
her with me - to Christmas parties or
weddings or the company picnic in May.
They said I made her up, that the picture
on my desk was something I got from a
stock photo book or from something I
picked up off the shelf of a dollar store

Give me a break!

And then the unthinkable happened.
She left me - just like that!
There was a note and nothing else.
I still don't understand it.
I quit my job. I cleaned out my
desk at the office and went back
to the apartment...she seemed to be
everywhere...in pictures all over,
her smile beaming at me from
every room

Now in my loneliness, in my drift
toward sleep each night, my heart
is hollow. I murmur her name in
the darkness...'Arianna...Arianna...'
- a name like the wind - free, restless,
rhapsodic, an anthem bursting
from my heart, the answer to my
most desperate prayers

It blares me awake
   from a deep sound sleep
a high-pitched aberrant signal
   that disturbs and mystifies
a sonic knife
   cutting through the air
i pause
not remembering
who i am
where i am
how i got here
in this dark unfamiliar room

i struggle to remember
what mayhem could await me -
something evil, foreboding,
something awful
cloaked
in the merciless sunlight
of morning

what is more useless than beauty?

it's nothing more than an arrangement
   of features that please the eyes
a form of visual perfection
   that inspires awe
a whim of god to distribute it
   in modest numbers

but it still works its magic
when it sashays down a street
and children at play stop
as if a goddess is in their midst

We know that snow and ice
And wind and sleet and hail
Will make us all uptight
Make us despair and wail

Let's face it: The roads are scary
                      Filled with sudden risks
                      When Mother Nature digs into
                      Her nasty bag of tricks

And weather experts only
Make us tense and fidget
With forecasts of wind chills
In dreaded single digits

We say: No more shoveling snow
              No more arctic winds
              No more cars that cough and stall
              No more tires that spin

We'll wait for warmer days
The days when bluebirds sing
We'll wait for winter's end
And bless the birth of spring

It waddles across the landscape
an untidy blubbering mess
that cannot hide its hugeness
its folds of flabby flesh

Its expanding multiple chins
increase its oozing girth
a monstrous shape that maneuvers
to threaten the planet earth

It moves like a massive shadow
with its striking stature and depth
it destroys the people's planet
with one smothering crushing step

Think of it as a bad dream...

You're sleeping soundly
on a Greyhound bus

Suddenly you're awakened
by cold water
creeping up your shoes
inching over your ankles

You jump up
only now it's too late

The door of the bus
is locked
from the outside

The windows are stuck and
the glass can't be shattered
no matter how hard you pound

The water is no longer gradual
It is swift, rushing upward
enclosing your body
past your waist
up to your chest
covering your neck

In seconds
there will be no place
left to breathe
just the rapid snakelike swirl
of ***** water

You're left submerged
Your eyes sealed shut
Your hands gnarled
in a deathlike grip...
You're hopelessly caught
in the rising, surging
pull of water
moving out of a river
onto the city streets

i will ban
          syntax
          grammar

i will banish
          sentences
          phrases
          clauses

i will evict
          capitalization

i will exile
          all punctuation

i will relegate all of these to the
          circular file of written expression

it is time
at long last
for words to
squirm and falter
but ultimately prevail
in their singular
              splendid
              glory

The poetic license I seek
Seems to be something unique
No numbers are on it at all
No address or phone number to call

There is no photo of me
Smiling so pleasantly
Nor an "issued" notation
Nor "date of expiration"

No signature is needed
(A departure from the norm)
In fact, my name's nowhere on it
Or even the date I was born!

My advice is not to apply for one
In fact, I strongly insist
Save yourself stress and bother
No such "license" exists

Poetic license you see
Is invisible as air
Yet your skill can make someone smile
Or passionately care

Your words can paint sunsets
Or spout political views
Your poetry can be a fantasy
Or as real as Page One news

Set your pen to paper
Hit those computer keys
Create your own masterpiece
And let your mind roam free

You don't need a license
For your imagination to soar
Just wait for that creative spark
And let that mighty pen "roar"

He arrived
Without ribbons or bows
Just a full head of hair
And a cute little nose
With a smile so sunny
It melted the snow
And lit up a room
And made our hearts glow

Then Santa showed up
With a sleigh full of toys...
Special deliveries
For each girl and boy
But no present compared
Or brought so much love
As our new baby boy
Our gift from above

I think that I shall always fear
The sound of footsteps very near
Not the kind of footsteps military
But the tumult of shoppers in a hurry
That is of course a sorry sound
Of customers running all around
Grabbing sale items everywhere
And scaring all without a care
It's the shrill noise of Christmas fright
(Forget Santa Claus and "Silent Night")
From Black Friday to December twenty-four
It's that time of year when they head to the stores
Then everything ends up under a tree
And everyone's savings vanish mysteriously
And the mall's sound system sounds kind of funny
As it resonates resolutely with the sound of money

Some people like a sometime friendship
Others say they like a sometime fling
Some people like a sometime lover
But I don't want any of those things

I only want your kisses every morning
I want to be the one who holds you tight
I only want to be yours exclusively
My everlasting love each day and night

Some people spend time spinning daydreams
Searching for someone they'll never find
Some people waste time chasing rainbows
But loving you is all that's on my mind

I only want to hold you every moment
I only want to know you will be mine
Never ending trust is what we'll always have
A love to share and treasure for all time

Some people say that I'm old fashioned
They say my wishes don't mean a thing
Some people just want part-time loving
But your true love makes me want to sing

I only want your sweet self near me always
I only need your love to set me free
Full-time loving's not filled with empty wishes
Full-time loving's made for you and me

Some people think love's just illusion
Fleeting like moments from the past
Some people seek the temporary
But what I seek's a love that lasts and lasts

I only want your kisses every morning
I want to be the one who holds you tight
I only want to be yours exclusively
My everlasting love each day and night

First, there was the aura...
Her face bathed in radiant light
Her smile dazzling and sincere
Those brown eyes so warm and bright

With her optimistic manner
She swept me up in every way
There was no one else in the world for me
When we first met that winter day

I found the love of my life to be
Forthright, honest and kind
With her charming personality
And her brilliant, incisive mind

She was the center of my universe
Standing by me in times of need
Encouraging and resilient
Her strength a comfort to me

I treasured our moments together
And reflected on our special life
She was my devoted soul mate
...My loving, caring wife

Toothpaste commercials tell us
How to find the perfect mate -
By using dentists' favorite brands
Our teeth will look so great
For why should true love become
A case of hit or miss
When all we need for true romance
Is a peppermint-scented kiss?

The surgeon changed her nose
To a perfect classic form
And people forgot the original
Until her twins were born.

Surgeons can reconstruct your features,
Turn Plain Janes into beauty queens,
But surgery stops mighty short
In fixing those tiny genes.

When warriors sleep
they dream of peace
of perfect skies
and quiet seas

But when awake
they hear the call
and face the fight
and stand so tall

They fear not war
or words of hate
they know that strife
can make them great

And one who never
turned from the heat
who spoke his mind
endured defeat

Now rests in death
an honored man
who served us well
who took a stand

The flags languish
expecting to see
no light of day
until
once again
proud veterans
march down
a thousand main streets
their shiny shoes
striking pavements
their ears filled with
standing ovations
their faces
smiling with pride
as they pass by
in
perfect
parade
formation

Now we wait
for the whisper in the universe
the voice to transcend all other sounds

We hush to hear the message
Someone will speak to us
Someone's voice will embrace us
in our darkest night of despair

Time has ceased
All creatures of the earth are still
The birds are sleeping
The fish are at rest
All seas are calm, undisturbed
All warriors have replaced their weapons
with prayers and thoughts of peace
The glittering components
of all the celestial galaxies
are in perfect alignment
All of the people in the world
have gathered
hopeful, longing
lingering on the edge of possibility
anxious to find
the majesty of forgiveness
the mystery of our purpose
the meaning of our lives

Everything in place
Everyone waiting for
the whisper
in the universe

The friend I know
is not the friend I knew

His once open smile -
focused, pleasant -
has become a fast fade,
changing instantly
into a serious unforgiving expression,
a Dustin Hoffman smile,
fleeting, formidable,
a solemn face that closes gates,
builds walls,
seals fate,
the expression of an
enigmatic character
in a strange novel
speaking endlessly
with great authority
and then
just like that
vanishing
with a turn of the page...
never ever appearing again

theres something so final about a period
which is as it should be

commas always get in the way
coming and going like anxious insects
trying to make themselves important
as they scatter over a page
already overrun with too many words

question marks have a slightly
swooping profile curve just above
a period
theyre kind of elegant
they remind me of a swan
with a regal attitude
i saw once on a pretty pond

parentheses embrace words like **** curves

and brackets are like steel gray bookends
fencing words in

exclamation points are so abrupt
and rude and angry
like an outburst
in a classroom
like fireworks
in a funeral parlor
dont mess with them
they mean business

hyphens dashes colons semicolons
apostrophes
and quotation marks
that surround what we say
and dont forget the ellipses that
take the place of
words we omit

sometimes i like to write stories and poems
with no punctuation no capitalization
no grammatical rationale whatsoever

dare i ask

how did i do

Ghost
Goblin
Bandit
Spy
Trick
or
Treat
Do
or
Die
Pirate
Princess
King
Queen
Masked Invaders
on the scene

Zombies
Prisoners
Aliens from Mars
Godzilla
Lady Gaga
and
Rock & Roll Stars

Chefs
Doctors
Nurses
and
Ghouls
Mobsters
and Movie Stars
dripping with jewels

The Pope
a Priest
a Flying Nun
a Fireman
Policeman
and a
Ray of Sun

As witches fly by
on this frightening night
we know there is no end
to its devilish delights

Cloud Nine is average
A three out of ten
Kind of gray and *****
Not at all into Zen

Cloud Ten is all fluffy
And full of fun
If you want a good time
Ten's the One
It's so much nicer
Lots of pinks and blues
With angels like ballerinas
Twirling in tutus

But forget about Nine
It's Dullsville in space
Check out Cloud Ten
It's a happening place

Love showed up unannounced
Startled me in a dream
Did it come to take me away?
What was its noble scheme?

Love sort of mystified me then
Stopped short and sped away
What message was in its eyes?
What words did it fail to say?

Perhaps it came to taunt me
To challenge me once more
To share myself, my feelings
To allow my heart to soar

To watch me try once again
Before the hour got too late
To give me one more chance for love
To change my lonesome fate

SUNDAY, JUNE 7...

I fell between the cushions of his super-comfy sofa
with pretzel salt snuggled between my pages.
Another sign of disrespect for inanimate objects
includes cat ***** stains that now soil my beautiful
maroon leather cover embossed in silver with his
initials. This guy is very mercurial, very spontaneous.
He just started a brand new job last week and he's
decided to leave it because it's "just not" for him.
He's planning to move away to another city, reinvent
himself - and revise his resume -  so he can next
fit into a blue chip job he's never held at some Fortune
500 company he's never worked in...and probably
never will. He's also planning to magically "become"
a Wharton grad which he knows will require a very
attractive resume sure to score points with head
honchos, much more impressive than the associates
degree he actually acquired from some obscure
community college in Jersey. He also plans to "create"
a wife and two kids. Employers, he believes, like
a family man, not a bachelor with a roving eye. Family
men get raises, promotions, they move up, they fit in.
This guy knows no boundaries and he's got it all
figured out. His fictional alter ego will escape detection
because he's pretty certain most companies never
really check the backgrounds of potential employees,
but he qualifies all this by confiding that such a generalization
may not be 100% true.
________________

MONDAY­, JUNE 8...

He has yet again changed his mind. He's not going to
leave the job after all. Some big shot at the company
complimented him on how quickly he's learning the
ropes. Looks like that career renovation is no longer
on the table. And one of the new hires - a redhead
named Lisa - who started the same day he did asked
him to join her for lunch. He digs the forward type so
he says "yes" and it turns out they clicked.
________________

TUE­SDAY, JUNE 9...

****** Day for me! He's now decided to forego any
more diary entries although he refers to me as his
"journal" - obviously a more butch designation than
the antique genteel "diary" of years past. He's decided to
stay on the job, stay focused, blah, blah, blah. Being a diary
is no walk in the park. I've given him all these pages
to confide in...I've given him an outlet for his deepest
thoughts, his wildest dreams, his secret desires, and now
he's ditching me like a cheap suit. (Pardon the cliche.)
Excuse me as I prepare for the old heave-**.
Ingratitude is always a *****!