My advice to fellow geezers?
Just say **** it!
“Roll up to the magical mystery tour!”
Just like John & Yoko!
Smoke a big fat doobie each morning.
Step out the Hogan door, just greet
The East and walk in beauty.
After a few weeks you just won’t
Give a **** anymore; just not give a ****
In general, no longer care about what’s
Not important: The Guv’ment.
Politics. The rate of unemployment.
Inflation. Even radical, freaking
Muslim Jihadist TERROR!
Yes.  Just light up, Babaloo,
Do one’s bit for the Decline &
Fall (dropped you, didn’t I?)
Let’s mourn the dying ***** goddess.
America: that shining city on a hill,
Colombia in all her senility, insolvency &
Not even D or I, just Lusions of grandeur.
Let us contemplate the decrepitude,
The crumbling, up-in-smoke spiritual infrastructure,
The USA: the United ****'s-Creek of America,
Going down, down, down . . . ALERT!
NEWS FLASH! It’s Rome & Great Britain,
It’s the update, the demise of Empire all over again.
I remember those sorry-***, pathetic Brits,
Met them all over while hitchhiking around
Europe, an intensive, closely observed tour of duty
Abroad: a gift to myself, in fact a scholarship,
I rigged for myself back in the early ‘70s.
Going abroad: once a reserved right of passage for certain,
Privileged children of the 1890s, lucky spawn from
Families known as the “Well-to-do.” And why not add:
Dubbed the “Mauve Decade" because William Henry Perkin’s
Aniline dye allowed widespread use of that color in fashion.
The "Gay Nineties,” referring to a time not of buggery, but
Merriment & optimism, & lest we forget, Twain’s “Gilded Age.”
Got the time, spare a dime, got the freaking time-frame, Mack?
It was a dark & stormy total eclipse of Jupiter.
Spiritually speaking, I was free-floating.
And what of those same-self, sad-assed &
Sorry, pathetic Brits?
Well, consider the specific years.
Experience in Europe in my early 20s,
Meant 1972, 1973 & 1974.
Surely, a time for English disillusionment,
What with the sun finally setting,
A vague, prismatic twilight time,
A virtual requiem for His or Her Majesty’s Empire,
“Rule, Britannia ... Britannia rule the waves.”
(Cue ruffles & flourishes, fifes & flugelhorns)
This was pre-North Sea Oil Bonanza days.
This was England before Mrs. Thatcher
Gave her good people a long overdue,
Richly deserved kick in the tuchas.
“The Iron Lady” they called her.
Stopped Orwell’s future, doornail dead, she did.
“Maggie’s Miracle” they called it.

Those Brits I met & knew back then,
Those “Used-to-be-Contender” types:
Self-deprecatory, apologetic & cynical,
Mocking the Union Jack,
Shedding salty tears for Lost Empire.
“This blessed plot, this earth,
This realm, this England.”
Ironic & bitter to a man,
“Gulping gin & bitters later,” observes
Current tenant occupier, 221B Baker Street,
Sherlock finding the word at last,
The definitive literary term,
That one precise mot juste, that says it all.
In a word? Sardonic.
The USA is going down, down down—
“And away goes trouble down the drain!”

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That’s right: $KA-CHING$!
An ad right in the middle of a ******* poem!
Always the sensible poet, I kept my day job.
But now in my 60’s finally figuring out:
HOW TO MAKE POETRY PAY?
Bow down to Adam Smith & Ricardo—
Not the ‘Splaine me, Cuban bandleader
Of that surname, but David, the classical economist,
The “Iron Law of Wages” guy
It’s time to make money.
Call in the Madmen.
Send in the clowns.

Mad Men – AMC - AMC.com www.amc.com/shows/mad-men Official site for AMC's award-winning series Mad Men: Games, making-of videos, plus episode & character guides.

$KA-CHING$! $KA-CHING$!

And Dan Draper: an alcoholic, chain-smoking,
***** magnet & Korean War ****-up, shifty
Name-changer, last seen at that Big Sur ashram,
The Esalen Retreat & Jingle Inspiration Center,
**** Whitman coming clean, at last:
Hovering a foot off the ground
In the lotus position, receiving **** *** from a
Coke bottle incarnation of Vishnu.

Search Results I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing (In Perfect Harmony ... https://en.wikipedia.org/I'dLiketoTeachtheWorld . . . Wikipedia "I'd Like to teach the World to Sing (In Perfect Harmony)" is a popular song that originated as the jingle "Buy the World a Coke" in the groundbreaking 1971 ... Writer(s)‎ ‎Jon Hamm AKA Dan Draper; ‎Label‎: Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce.

Money: FUNGIBLE GREEN.
$KA-CHING$!

Those once sardonic Brits,
Now have Brooklyn accents.
We’re going down the drain, Babaloo!
The barbarians are at the gates,
A horde of hunger, a ******* rabble,
Green-eyed monsters, envying America’s poor,
Craving what little Uncle Sam’s indigenous poor have left,
Ragtag migrants, short, dark compañeros,
Swarthy Huns & Visigoths,
Whitman's last yawp, the last gasp breath of
Work Ethos, be it Protestant or Papist,
A colossal mélange of famine, hope & prayer,
The usual suspects: “Your tired, your poor,
Your wretched refuse & solid waste,
Your huddled, yearning masses.”
My advice to Emma--Sephardic-Ashkenazi,
Proto-Zionist, years before Herzl:
Get yourself a nightclub act, Ms. Lazarus.

America: I am hidden in a high grass savannah,
I watch the hyenas pick your carcass clean.
Adam Smith: he displaced the term greed--
Smacking as it does of deadly sin baggage—
Replaced the term Greed with Self-Interest.
And the only invisible hand I know of is
Down my pants, jerking me off,
Mesmerized by slogans, divine metaphors, like:
“A rising tide lifts all boats,” a Big Lie, for example.
Today’s economists call it “The Multiplier Effect.”
You pay me and I pay him & he pays he or she,
Merry Goes Round, Goes Round & Round the Merry-Ground.
All is just so cool & groovy,
Life is just a copacetic bowl of copacetic until
Some self-interested ****-*** decides to export
Your ******* job right out of the country:
Casus belli? Most certainly. Class warfare,
Always our hitherto history.
It’s not like that fat slob Michael Moore never warned us.

**Roger & Me (1989) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0098213/ Internet Movie Database  Rating: 7.5/10 - ‎22,470 votes Director Michael Moore pursues GM CEO Roger Smith to confront him about the harm ... Roger & Me -- Michael Moore's controversial but popular film is a highly ... Plot Summary - ‎Quotes - ‎Trivia - ‎Awards

I cry a trail of tears
from the Coast of Ivory,
land of Mandigo and Ashanti,
where ships swollen with betrayal
sailed and sailed and sailed
over pious canons and civil creeds,
feeding colored limbs to circling sharks
when they could row no more.

I cry a trail of tears
through the haunted hills of Mississippi,
land of Choctaw and Cherokee,
where wagons loaded with betrayal
on tireless wheels,
rolled and rolled and rolled
over signed statutes and sealed deals,
crushing colored spirits
'til they could fight no more.

I cry a trail of tears
to the parched walls of Auschwitz,
crypt of Sephardi and Ashkenazi,
where ovens stoked with betrayal
burned and burned and burned
through hair and flesh and bone,
scorching a million souls
'til they could scream no more.

This p-o-g-r-o-m trail of tears...

I cry.

~ P
(#trailoftears)
2008

~ May fourth, 2005
wedded bliss nearly fifty years
half a century almost
me not most favorite grown offspring,
she (when alive) did boast,
about youngest sister and her family,
unlike me – severely socially withdrawn
a veritable wallflower
as a result, I suffered emotional contusions.

When thru life yours truly did
nervously, frightfully, blisteringly coast,
nevertheless her spirit dwells
within wonky tonk prodigal host
crafted in the following poem he doth post
holding tumblr full of favorite brew
probiotic kombucha drink
to thee mother dearest
foregone fading memories
your long haired heir does toast.

Often these days,
the following genuine sentiment
Matthew Scott Harris
doth wish to share
how one and only son,
remembers his mother
cuz about eighteen years
after she succumbed
courtesy of terminal illness
he trots out and updates yearly
a poem initially crafted
when she passed away.

I still reckon eyes how yours truly
analogous to the fountainhead  
of Atlas shrugged off,
whose fanciful essence coalesced
immensely helped  sired,
and yelped ****** ******
when ******* ***** in heat whelped  
at what human biology wrought
doggone muttering schlep
despite being nurtured,

proffered, and registered
tender loving care
within whose womb,
a mature haploid female cell
experienced fertilization courtesy
complimentary male haploid *****
underwent fertilization yielding
zygote thru mother nature's gestation
this sole male offspring born,
thus subsequently after her demise,
yours truly shouldered himself with self scorn.

He clearly recounts
when she felt the scythe of the grim reaper
as if her death occurred yesterday...,
when all mine troubles
(emotional, financial, and physical)
moost definitely
no more farther away
then present moment.

Tempus fugit popular worded couplet
brings Latin alive with succinct precision
or imagine an hourglass
where fine granules
analogous to last remaining
grains representing sands of time
trickle from one to another
(upper to lower) bulbed chamber.

Just prior when coroner decreed death,
yet once in a lifetime opportunity prevailed,
wherein said self (me) chose
NOT to stand vigil at deathbed
(analogous to sitting Shiva)
of she who begat
an older and younger daughter
(mine sibling sisters).

Last breath(s) expelled while mama
tethered to machines,
one or more helped diminish
agonizing, depressing, and writhing
pain and discomfort
figuratively and literally
wracked and pinioned once fitness
and health conscious, flirtatious
industrious, tenacious, and vivacious body,
dinged, harangued, peppered
nefarious carcinoma by dint of
common atomic beastie boy
among certain Semitic people
linkedin to presumptuous inbreeding.

According to google search
frequency of breast, ovarian,
and uterine cancer among Ashkenazi
elicited revelatory statistic
1% of all Ashkenazi Jews
living today inherited
a defective copy of one
of their BRCA2 genes.

Unbeknownst to them,
these carriers of BRCA2 mutation
at increased risk for developing
breast, ovarian, prostate
and pancreatic cancer.

Indomitable esprit de corps
eradicated courtesy regimen of
chemotherapy and radiation,
which latter malignant terminal illness
(no joke) riddled a former robust
Arthur Murray ballroom dance instructor
(think approximately sixty nine years past),
whose coy and coquettish demeanor
instantaneously caught fancy of handsome
twenty something papa at his prime.

Before rigor mortis quickly
stole precious lifeblood, and
final minutes ticked away until
countdown to... realm
of absent consciousness
scant moments before subtle transition
slipped our beloved mother
out of misery (a veritable battleground)
where she did silently rage into deadzone...,
neither final adieu, caress, grief...,

nor poem written...
never communicated to deceased,
not an iota of sorrowful lament
bequeathed, prevailed, relinquished...
over lifeless body (mommy dearest)
relegated limp suddenly
cold stone pilot less body,
where morgue aged corpse
kept in cold storage
(despite aversion to frigid air
exhibited when mama alive)
preparatory to cremation process.

Rather... suppressed resentment
exhibited itself at 1148 Greentree Lane
(partially listed abode -
Matthew Scott Harris,
where family of mine then resided)
by mister recalcitrant,
felt ambivalent carte blanche blasé affection
regarding once young bride,
(who metaphorically
smothered cingular heir insync
with dada i.e. Boyce Brandon Harris),

cuz he (yours truly) overstayed
livingsocial under same roof as parents,
which happenstance situated
at me boyhood home
once located upon
six plus wooded acres;
324 Level Road
constituted the whittled down
once sprawling Leiper Estate,
which encompassed about
one hundred plus acre wood
home to Winnie the Pooh.

Both thee aforementioned
supposed biological guardians
railed, screamed, tormented
(albeit verbally traumatized)
yours truly, upon attaining
mine eighteenth birthday,
when great expectations
greatly exacerbating
emotionally hard times,
which ill suited poet de jure
experienced, brickbats rained

akin to fountainhead spewing
painful pelting piercing
poisonously pummelling (python like
hashtagged with moniker Monty)
down upon these
considerably mooch younger lovely bones,
whose anger (mine) smoldered
linkedin to constant epithets of expletives
out the mouths of those who begat me,
subsequently their livid with rage
tsunami festered within me
every holy moly molecule.

Mine atomized corporeal being
manifesting itself as deprivation
to embrace dear mama
attended at hospital with
both my non twisted sisters;
one hailed from Woodbury, New Jersey
and the younger staked out
modest digs within Bend, Oregon,
meanwhile thee grim reaper
did patiently soon scythe
heading back to his old curiosity shop,
a rather bleak house, I now conclude.

while surfing cyber seas today March 2nd, 2021.

Actually yours truly quite a literate codger
(ah shucks just missed being draft dodger)
no not for baseball team, but Vietnam War
circa November 1, 1955 – April 30, 1975.

Though non establishmentarian logophile,
battle weary shambling thru gauntlet aisle
where nasty, short and brutish bullies hurt
painfully shy socially withdrawn little boy
now scores of years later courtesy reverse
peristalsis generates yellow-green fluid

made by liver stored in gallbladder and
passes through common bile duct into
duodenum where it helps digest fat bile
law, said obnoxious nefarious miscreants
cannot leave a innocent victim (scathed
for life) receive just deserts after mature

individual summons courage and doth dial
representative strong arm of law to exile
forcing motley crew to march single file
into custody, where delinquent juvenile
obligated to under rehabilitation - ofttimes
impossible mission easier thread camel
thru eye of needle by kilometers or mile,

which lock em up philosophy (to redeem
any salvageable thread of humanity etched
within damaged punkish ****) might find
accused ring leader pointing in one direction
poor (young) fella suddenly exhibits scared
quivering (like loosed arrow) harried style.

Writing, (albeit hyperbolic and poetic) riffs
mine therapeutic and cathartic panacea to vent
emotional tears and ruptures patched courtesy
passion cobbling words literary figurative stent
linkedin bajillion fractured pieces of my psyche
to blunt and/or sublimate psychologically pent

up psychological travails, plus I attend therapy
iterated thru previous literary postings (Renee
Cardone - a Clinical Social Worker Specialist
Royersford, Pennsylvania), she graduated
with honors in 1982, her existence meant
as dogsend https://springfordcs.doxy.me/sfcsrc.

Other holistic strategies to cope with legacy
of emotional fallout (I don't necessarily blame
any cruel teasing nor genetic proclivity with
schizoid personality disorder) courtesy dame
Kuritsky (mother dearest), who passed away
almost sixteen Earth orbitz ago, her - a flame
figuratively caught eyes of Boyce Brandon
both young flirts played catch me if can game.

Retrospective ascertaining origin of why
and how I found life, liberty and pursuit of
happiness such an onerous struggle - thy
inherited genetic genealogical robust stock
(predominantly Ashkenazi) might qualify
me as certifiably Jewish, though atheism
constitutes schema of existence well nigh.

I tell the truth in Christ, I am not lying, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Spirit, that I have great sorrow and continual grief in my heart. 
For I could wish that I myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my countrymen according to the flesh, who are Israelites, to whom pertain the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the service of God, and the promises;
                                                      ­                      Romans 9:1-4 (NKJV)

Will the real House of Israel please arise?
(We know it's NOT that Ashkenazi place
Founded on terror and Zionist lies...)
Still, I'd like to know who's the chosen race.
Are they white? Are they black? Or in-between...
Do they lay claim to a king or a queen?

It sounds delusional; heretical;
Using God's Bible to stake a false claim.
Their standing: purely theoretical
Attempting to cash in on tribal fame—
But Judah and Israel were both dispersed,
And, according to Christ, both houses cursed.

Even if it turns out you're of the tribes,
Would that improve your standing with the Lord?
Does it give you deeper spiritual vibes
To claim you've got clearance to wield His sword?
Fake privilege now yours: to name your foes
As those whom God Almighty would oppose.

what is the "subjectivity"
of a mosquito
   to the, "objectivity"
                     of a spider?

that's a hard, question,
isn't it?

          i don't have an answer,
for the most part:
most questions
do not begin with,
an answer.

there are simply the highs
of drinking,
and the pensive lows
of, the same partake,
that is not subscribed
to harvesting
potatoes...
  
   quasi-elite,
or whatever you might call
seething through
the eclectic...
through...
     the ******* rainbow!
i just sit here,
and "waste" my time...
   "occupying" a space...
but never, quiet,
space                 fulfilling...

unless you're talking about
a blocked toilet,
sure...
engineer made handy...
and life goes on...

   some ****** gets "herself"
bashed, stray plum,
into a wall,
and i'm like:
does anything happen
to the orthodox gays
attratcted to shy beard,
stubble,
     is this the point
were gays are akin
to the ashkenazi jews,
i.e. treated as
                      high i.q.?
no? too early?
yes? no?

****** contra ******
violence...
south asian flyweight
boxer taking on a sumo
wrestler?
   south east asians...
oh... you imply those
quasi **** with
a suntan? wide eyed
like it's curry season?
thai surprise
         brigade?

what?!
no... i'm buying
in on stressing crude...

       i play the stereotypical
flute of racial realism
like any ******* kek...
  white is white,
until it starts to talk "funny"...
akin to an australian accent...

but there is still:
what is the "subjectivity"
of a mosquito
   to the, "objectivity"
                     of a spider?

that's a genuine question...
"subjectivity":
i either get bitten,
or i experience arachnophobia...
"objectivity":
   i am free from
a disease...
    but i am made subject,
to the "object":
that's a subject inside
    my own 'ed...

all things remain
   within the confines
of a subject-object complex,
that isn't a duality,
dichotomy,
or anything else...

    base for debate...
what is sodium chloride...
to what
is sodium pentothal?
   salt in the former instance...
i spew...
  in the latter instance...

nurse, scalpel:

what doesn't begin as a subject,
isn't an object, isn't an object,
isn't a subjective relief...
in how
    the subject-matter
continues,
   and the object "disappears"

contra:

what begins as a subject,
is an object, is an object,
        is a subject of relief...
to sustain itself being:
            an anti-objectification;
which never...
   is subject to scrutiny
   of the objectified primo
posit...

        no... i'm not trying
to be right...
but it would be "nice"...
to find someone who could
help me unravel
the following statements
into a simplified
1 + 1 = 2...

at this point,
it doesn't matter,
what matters is the tailoring
of the Monday's worth
of a suit,
for the Barbican
              bureaucrats;
occupying an office space,
with a complete
disregard
   for reading Kant.

crafted before onset when people of color  
got acknowledged for twenty eight or nine days
depending if leap year occurred.

Though I yam Caucasian,
rightful to honor most bitter
racist genocidal crime,
nonetheless ovation qua
one non WASPish critter
buzzfeeds kickstarts poetic hitter,
viz quintessential significant contribution
vis a vis ******* that doth litter
just pass over after me death
as posthumous Jew pitter,
patter one among anonymous wordsmith
(linkedin to Ashkenazi)
multitudinous Semitic peoples.

Many unknown dark skinned souls
cruelly abducted, enslaved, lynched...
wrenched, yanked, and zipped
out heart of darkness within
pristine jungles of Africa
bravely fought as non quitter
with ebony melanin to **** sitter,
this asthma feeble attempt
made as thoughtful, rueful, mindful literate
read courtesy sibling, parent,
guardian or baby sitter
reasonable rhyme aye adorn
rhythmically snapchat, tweet and twitter.

**** Sapiens with Negroid color
who, despite being human *******
managed to illuminate, embellish, adorn
worthy contributions to society,
though me Asian garden variety
American (though not so proud),
and civilization since time immemorial
hence, I wanna pay poetic homage
to persons gifted with melanin born
akin to diversity exemplifying gamut
analogous to Indian corn
debased brutally and forlorn
no matter raised in cornucopia horn
of plenty with rare serf tenderness

whipped by wicked task masters
from the crack of morn,
aye cannot fathom why
a great proportion of humanity
must struggle on scraps of subsistence
while yours truly with sixty plus shades
of Caucasian pigment, albeit servile
shamefully linked heritage viz
precarious, opprobrious, nefarious,...  
Matthew Scott Harris sworn

vengeance against those perpetrators
whereat cultures, histories, languages...
eradicated courtesy genocide,
nevertheless heroic efforts
witnessed Underground Railroad
where a minority escaped,
being branded, manacled, tortured,
et cetera history as slaves an existence
until...pacified family dislocated
sans rent asunder, ripped and torn.

Once a proud family akin to Brady
bunch, now brutally, nasty
and short lived poorly destitute
(case in point) like Haiti -
once a nation extant with cultural finery
insidiously ***** "Lady"
lacerated odiously robbing
unique peoples as owners didst slay
practically naked "Primates"
encaged like wild animals in zoos
culturally robbed while
abhorrently marched in ones and twos
shredded souls without shoes
(analogous to persecuted Jews)
of singular ambition to break shackles
though tightly fused
to life as they chose.

The above smattering examples of many peoples
UNFAIRLY subjected
to subservience and exempt
from enjoying the fruits of their labor.

January twelfth two thousand and ten
(original date this communique writ then
kept wedged where in no wise
bore visual witness
vis a vis near annihilation and destruction
of African, Haitian,
South American, et cetera nations
whereby countless/ nameless individuals
e’en the strongest Herculean type men

crushed by humungous slabs of
building facades practically
demolishing every creation
since this island and/or
sundry other nation settled, which
indigenous tribes sought safety
in any geologic den
seeking solace and salvation
from wrath of nature

by paying obeisance via oblation
perhaps giving credence to clear water
in tandem with rooster and hen
that laid a golden egg and chicken thing,
especially encroaching, jumpstarting, outsourcing
once noble savages affected violation
particularly when Europeans
foisted forfeiture of land
with primitive implement like pen
no matter that travesty, trickery, mockery,
et cetera wrought humiliation
pleading invaders to forsake
such actions that rent asunder
culture beseeched god when
these depraved brutish, nasty
and (shortish) Hobbesian simians
wantonly increased desecration.

The peoples of this dominion rose
from the ashes like the phoenix like bird
no mattered genetic pool underwent
white washing from scouring influx
from western thumping proselytizers,
which alien beliefs hard to swallow like curd
basically bribery (with lustrous trinkets)
ah those coveted legal tender.

Upon emancipation proclamation cessation
to sell men, women and for x amount of bucks
akin to the soundcloud winged fowl clucks
foisted/ forced the unpleasant alternative
(wanton slaughter) to be clearly heard,
yet within the very fiber of tropical
mangrove persons patiently lined up their ducks
and declared as one of the first semi *****
esse full African American peoples
INDEPENDENCE to be the word,
whence adulation, elation, inspiration echoing
across ramshackle greensward.

I dashed (off the enclosed poem) yay
while safely secured within
white horse open sleigh
after reading following
pray lemme know if ye uttered oy vey.

Profound insights divulged
during our most recent family zoom
Approximately seven hundred
and fifty four months since exiting womb,
yours truly (sole son
of late Boyce Brandon -
yes she named him
after paternal grandmother
Sadie, her mom's Yiddish name
Basia Brana or Brandla)
me currently ensconced within unit B44

analogous to catacomb
amid Highland Manor Apartments
I dwell - our livingsocial hole in the wall
among grateful dead residents
facility likened to metaphorical tomb
each stone individually moved one at a time
courtesy hearty and hale archeologists
resident to Qom
(a city in northwestern Iran -
place of pilgrimage for Shiite Muslims)

to imbibe on spiritual succor
and become comfortably numb
acquiring appropriate trailing appellation,
yes a USDA, FDA, B Corp... and
Pink Floyd approved nom de plume,
which feeble poetic brainstorm
begat within mine
sixty plus shades of gray matter,
which exhaustive mental effort
induced silent but deadly ka-boom

one Matthew Scott Harris
rent asunder vaporized to smithereens,
hence each his personal possessions
cherished as prized heirloom
no trace left behind
regarding pulverized lovely bones,
nevertheless burnt offerings
specialists did painstakingly exhume
where Ashkenazi temple will bloom.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
My humblest apology for lame rhyme
with previous word similar to crypt
yours truly deserted and he gypped
thee while crawling
across Sahara during nighttime
dehydration subsequently
found me tight lipped
I called Uber, but could not get a lyft.

The spirit of Boyce Brandon Harris
(mine papa) awoke
vested gentry coutured raiment
did don and singularly cloak
affecting haunting resemblance
to daguerreotype accentuating,
(especially his ****** features)
as Semitic (i.e. Ashkenazi) folk.

Circumstances found yours truly stationed
(wagon ma figurative tale) outside
within close proximity to our parked vehicle,
a 2009 copper toned Hyundai Sonata
bequeathed to us (thee wife)
courtesy said male parent
approximately six months prior.

Though not necessarily
mechanically engineered
(like dear ole dad),
I know basic
vehicular maintenance tidbits,
thus rummaged trunk

for sought after portable air compressor
purchased when I owned
previous automobile - also
2009 Hyundai Sonata plus
similarly acquired thru
Enterprise rent a car.

After removing most all
miscellaneous paraphernalia -
including recycling materials
the missus regularly
drops off at Wegmans
subsequently organizing trunk in process
I finally located
two lightweight air compressors,

the more heavy duty model
bought years before father passed away,
plus said recently deceased parent
also kept portable battery charger,
both items a dog send
analogous to striking motherlode
of unsuspecting goldmine
ready to shout finders keepers!

Though yours truly
(i.e. me) skeptical dude
regarding existence
of benevolent invisible I allude
to sudden awakening to brood

notion concerning divine
omniscient essence,
which found local ******
in an ecstatic mood
whereby, I did pray tell
(rather bellow) gratitude

Capital one stroke of luck
to discover (visa vis)
needful things to carry
to avoid being in misery stranded
out in the middle of nowhere
guided courtesy the shining star

tentatively headed towards desperation
resembling a black house
preparing myself (otherwise
known as lovely bag of bones)
for the long walk
into the dark tower of doom.

I am from chalked up climbing shoes
From pens and sneakers
I am from the chipping game cabinet that is exhausted from use
I am from the invasive red prickly bush
The towering evergreen tree whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.
I’m from hannukahs and christmases
From Jack and from Jill
I’m from wannabe mothers and repetitive dad jokes and
From saying i love you every night
I’m from take a chill pill and **** it up cupcake
And every little thing is gonna be alright
I’m from long walks in the mountains
And Westchester county
I’m from Ashkenazi jews
And smoked meat and boca burgers
From the tendon my father snapped with an axe
And the wheat my sister coughed up
I’m from talking and good humor
From unconditional love and support

On my shelf is a box brimming with letters
Of the memories I hold closest
To my heart
My conscience
And my happiness

I think I'm haunted by 17
37
Susan
And 72

He told me
He's English
West African
And Ashkenazi Jew

I'm Irish
English
Scottish
Maybe German too

All I hear is silence
In the sadness
Breath
Rothko green and blue

But Horton Hears a Who.