As a non-golfing husband I revel at tales
Of sunshine filled days chasing small *****,
Some in the rough others in sand,
All these brave girls fighting nature's pitfalls.

I hear of the times the flock of wild ducks
Hindered a drive that was perfectly hit,
And what of those trees that magically moved
With a subsequent shout 'I just want to quit'.

But then I'm regaled with feats of great skill
Such as the time a Birdie was made,
Out comes the flask, big glugs all around,
Magical moments that no-one would trade.

They say Golf's a passion a lifelong pursuit,
One day may be heaven the other pure hell,
Neither cool mornings nor that full midday heat,
Apparently stops that will to excel.

Yet there's one thing I notice each week,
Yes the real pleasure from playing the game
And what's not to like from those magical views
But without one's good friends the day's not the same.

So to all poor Golf widowers awoken by shrilling alarms,
Then never quite knowing what time we'll see our fair brides,
There's a much higher calling we can but embrace,
'Happy wife happy life' the true gift this pastime provides.

Wrote this while my best friend since childhood and I drove 1300 miles to South Florida on a whim for Spring Break. It's epic, so get comfortable.

"Approachable but you wouldn't know it.  Proclamations of the Romantically Challenged"

Day one.

We meet, old friends...watch old friends...become old friends again.
We find our lost grins, ones only shared with our closer than kin.
Thin shagrins of lasting cynicism and sinister pasts are masks to the blasts we got away with and lived to tell the tale.
Alas, we are sons and friends first, not last.
We cling to our good old glory stories past,
But at last the time is new, our trip begins.
Wheels burn, stomachs churn.
Our aspired souls yearn,
to fire the liars and unconcerned.
We head for the East coast.
With temperatures rising,
approaching unseen horizons,
rejecting the superficially tantalizing,
we begin to feel our tattered souls wisen.
Talking a new talk, calculating the steps to walk a new walk.
Testifying our pains, devilishly dodging heavenly rains, the bitter bites but invites change.
Watching yourself in a friend, a cynical kidder gone bitter.
Your mirror becomes your babysitter.
We search our hearts and back again down I-10.
We find strength and talk about things friends for life can only talk about on a walk about.
We lift some Spirits to lift our spirits.
Night falls,
we arrive alive… our walk about calls 1,365 miles in 18 hours.

Day two begins.

Meet and greet with the beach.
Get a handle on some handy sandals,
some nicotine candy and butane candles.
A fifth of Daniels.
Jack and Jose will duel this day.
"You know it's know your fault, pass the lime and salt," ends most answers before noon.
Let's take some dares with the local fare, shadowing the glare of our wear and tear.
The sun fries,
windy sands fly,
waves pacify,
dropped bikini tops glimpsed from the corner of our eye, testify.
The Sun sets.

Shuffing off the nightlife status-quo of Clematis Row, we turn our walkabout into a Palm Beach Safari...Club.
Whoa! Rows and rows of walking, talking shows barely clothed from head to tanned toes.
Making funnies about hunting honies preying on money.
The unattainable passes. We tap our glasses.
"Point in case, what a waste, such tragedies as these, a lot of money and a little cheese meets a little ****** in high cut sleeves, low-cut cleaves & cuts way above the knees.
Our cuts are deep. Bartender, two Yagers please."

Low and behold…on those stools sit no fools.
Breaking all rules.
with Coronas as fuel,
we inflate our jewels.
As we coach our approach, mentioning "I-10 and back again" prompts grins,
hides our cynicism and sins,
then, moving in to win friends.
Names and places put to faces, careful glancing, winks and dancing.
Alright, the trips to the bathroom are getting old.
Warm smiles once cold, honest questions and truths told…no souls sold…we fold? Hmmmm.
We leave and arrive alive.
Caffine and nicotine stay the scene until the wee hours overpower us.

Day three unfolds

The sun rises and the ocean calls.
Old molds broken
No lies spoken.
No need to peddle your life away settling on the day-to-day following peers falsely content and full of contempt.
Eyes turn bright,
the Sun pours over night,
dolphin, lime and salt,
golfing talk,
day approaches night.
Less tense and more pensive,
more apprehensive and less expensive,
even so we head out to even the evening,
to end our grieving and start achieving....something.
Latitude changes have rearranged our attitude gauges.
So we choose West Palm's Clematis Row to show us how a little rude,
lude and tattooed could clue us in on the anew.
Fools with jewels.
Girls with rules.
Uncool tools abound.
We walk this street of sleekish freaks,
the falsely meek,
lions that squeak.
"Club Respectables" is dubbed rejectables as the objectionable scene is seen as a scheme by vampires with recessive genes.
Next is Spanky's…Best described as "A frat boy fishing pole contest to tackle box in bait shack." One bucket of beer away from "I got your back Jack in case of attack."
We move along.
Colombia Supreme brewed proceeding it's fine grind and American Online becomes the sign of the times swaying us to stay and play at an Internet Cafe.

"I could live here," proclaims a cynical kidder once bitter now soothed by the sea spray and salty air.

Enlightenment heightened by a magic man,
near night's end, inspires an O'Shea's Black and Tan.
The crowd mocks and baulks the sidewalk scene from the patio Pub Dubbed Irish.
We greet the ground,
not the masses' frown,
seat our ***** down,
toast our glasses of black and brown,
our bitters with bite wash down the bitter frowns we normally wear out in our hometown.
"That's a sharp Harp's and sinister Guinness; can I get a witness?"

We head back down our beaten path, writing our epitaphs and usual eulogies...But you know that the "place" or your "space" will change your face, one makes the case."If you sound bitter and you look bitter, chances are you are bitter."
I begin to smile during our final mile of token jokes,
Corona smokes,
shiny Harley spokes.
We leave and arrive alive at the realization,
we have things to strive for in our lives.  
We smoke and joke and poke fun at the run down broken blokes we were before our fun in the sun had begun.
  
Day four begins.
  
We embark for the Ozarks. Our souls at ease.
Save the scene...the last palm tree's waving leaves,  
we wave our palms and leave.
1300 miles more,  
Pushing the morning hour of four,  
empty coffee cups galore,  
moonings a score,  
pedal to the floor,  
memories and more,  
we knew we would be back for more.  
Suddenly learning how insane our inane claims of waning fame should hold no shame,
we reframe our game.
Upon our return…
the strength to strive, take back our broken banks and breaking backs.
Less taxing, more relaxing..."it could happen"... eliquinent waxing.
As we search our hearts and back again, down I-10,we find the strength in things you can only talk about on a walk about,
but that's what it was all about.
By R.Craig David-copyrighted 1995

Strange question indeed,
So I asked one and all;
Explain to me:
“What's a plumber's ball?”

Family and friends
Heeded my call,
But none could confine,
Refine or define it,
Yet Paul was sure
He could design it.

Still, none could satisfy
My caterwaul:
“What the hell is a plumber's ball?”

Does it sweat the pipe
Or wiggle the snake:
Can it clamp the ******
For Heaven's sake?
Could it snap on the ****-hole cover?
All these queries
Made me wonder.

Has it something to do
With hardness leakage,
Or ******* the ball-****
To stop a seepage?
Has it anything to do
With a saddle valve dripping,
Electric eels,
Or two pipes mating?
And, I heard of male and female fittings,
And should I worry
If I'm standing or sitting?

If you're discharging the head
Or elongating the pipe,
Does the plumber's ball
Help it snug tight?
Is it in my tank,
Or in my bowl,
Beneath the floor
Near the drainage hole?
Is the plumber's ball
In the back of the truck
(Jeff laughed and said
One could rub it for luck).

I asked Michel
If he could tell,
He sensed it was something
He could smell.
I sought out Ray,
Perhaps he'd know,
But he was on call
To restrain a back-flow.
I couldn't ask Gary
For his wisdom and sense,
He was wigglin' the snake
To unclog a wet vent.
Henry, Rick, Scotty and Brian,
Gave shameless answers
I couldn't rely on.

It's not a crapper, tail piece
Or Johnnie-bolt,
Or catch basin, reamer,
O-ring or pipe dope.
So I searched the Net
With a fool's wonder,
And read of ball-checks,
Gas ***** and plungers.
I know it's too late
To ask Rolly or Ross,
For both of them knew,
And that's our loss.
And Ernie's gone golfing
So I can't ask the Boss.

With final resolve
I fell to my knees,
To pray St. Ferrer
With grace intercede.
His silence left me
In a state of depression;
Had Ferrer washed his hands
Of the plumbing profession?

So nothing could settle
My wherewithal,
I still didn't know,
What's a plumber's ball?

Suddenly, it hit me,
He's never wrong,
The Dalai Lama of dip-tubes,
I'll ask John.
Where others did falter,
John's a rock:
He knows the difference
Between a gas and ball ****.

With a knowing smile
He embraced our Hall:
Here, good friend, is your Plumbers' Ball.

One thing we know about Trump is that
Whenever he criticizes someone,
It's often for something that he himself
Does or previously has done.

When he campaigned, he criticized
Obama for golfing. Such a crime!
Now that he's the president,
Trump is golfing all the time!

He blasted Obama for lack of transparency
And accused him of being feckless.
Trump's own transparency comes
To light only because he's so reckless.

Trump says the media should
Be less hostile and model civility.
Then he attacks the press and others
And carries it out with utmost hostility.

Our national security:
An issue to Trump, yet now it's known
How much the hypocritical man
Loves to use his unsecured phone.

Hillary's emails were often a target
Before and even since the election.
Trump's fake concern and constant
Complaints: examples of his projection.

Emails are now in the news again.
This time daughter Ivanka is using
Her private email account for government
Business! Isn't that amusing?

Oh, you hypocrites! You act as though
For you the rules do not apply.
But if there's any justice at all,
You'll get yours by and by.

-by Bob B (11-20-18)

A guy named Jim from Delaware
Liked golfing in his underwear
Whatdya know and son of a gun
He finally got a hole-in-one
Guess he'll hafta get anotha pair!

This is a beautiful "Barry Hodges" poem.*

Ah, sweet memories of that night in Blarney
In the stout-soaked suburbs of ould Cork City.
How clearly through the mist of alcoholic memory
I recall how we all piled out of Johnny's bar at closing time
****** as a load of proverbial ******* newts;
'Where to now me boys, which bar's still open?'
Shrieked spiflicated Sean O'Shannon
(that's notorious sixteen pints an hour Sean,
the man who won Strictly Come Boozing twice)
As he tottered over to his Pa's new BMW convertible,
Lucky ****** that he is to be son to a Fianna Fáil MEP,
And one not adverse to trousering a Euro or two.

'Sean, me oul' potato, de ye think ye should be driving
With that record-breakin' skinful o' stout
I just seen you put away down your greasy gullet,
Not to mention the quadruple whiskey chaser?'
Enquired loopy Liam O'Lephrechaun as he leaned over
And puked up another gallon of warmish Guinness
Over yours truly as I rolled helplessly in the Ballygrohan road
To the amusement of the gawping bystanders,
Bearing in mind there were a good dozen gobbets
Of half-digested pork scratchings in the froth
Which was causing havoc with my apparel.

So without another feckin' word being spoken
My dear drinking companions and ***** buddies
Left me prostrate and clambered gaily into the waiting car
And roared off into the enchanted Gaelic night;
Singing and smoking themselves silly simultaneously,
So full of the joys of life and the blessed bottle.
And then some ****** stupid American tourist
(doubtless dressed in hideous checked golfing trousers
with a backwards-facing baseball cap on his ugly head,
not to forget his overweight wifey crammed into the front seat
just like a huge white bloated fat-faced hippo),
Came round the next corner in a clapped out rental car
And the two of them got sent to Kingdom-sodding-Come
With a terrible metallic crash which destroyed them completely.

'Oh begorrah and *******, would ye just look at the mess
The feckin eejit's made of me Daddy's Beemer,
And it's his pride and joy so it is to be sure!'
Cried Sean O'Shannon in an alcoholic rage,
As he contemplated the largest insurance claim
In the County Cork for the past six decades,
(at least the largest legitimate one anyway).
Whilst I was trying to get my hipster pants down
To avoid filling them up with beery diarrhoea
Brought on by my involuntary bursts of joyous mirth,
(bejasus, 'twas the second time in the space of a single week
and my new girlfriend was getting a bit fussy about hygiene
bearing in mind she was thinking of taking the veil).

How fortunate old Father Tucker and Garda Sergeant O'Toole
Could both (when they'd sobered up sufficiently)
Testify later from their secure vantage point
In the rear compartment of a nearby parked hearse,
(where they were having a ******* with Deidre,
the filthiest wee **** in the whole South-Western counties)
That the accident was not dear Sean's fault at all, to be sure,
As the other stupid sober yankee ****** was driving at 75
On the wrong friggin' side of the ******' street
Or probably in the middle, come to think of it.
'Sure but Sean's the best driver this side of the Blarney Stone,
And there's no way himself would ever drive under the influence'*
They agreed sagely before going off for another jar or two
And maybe a double knee-trembler with Deidre's fat sister,
One up each of her gaping hair-rimmed orifices.

they are so worn out
but I can't let them go
so faded orange
***** white
and dusty black
my socks peek through
little frayed holes
they've been with me in the best of times
but not in the worst

these are ones I got in the beginning
they ushered in the golden years
they've been bird watching
they've been mini golfing
they've been waiting to slip into
on so many mornings
after so many nights

they've listened to me sing Taylor Swift songs at the top of my lungs
in a little blue car
mobbing through this quiet little town
at a quarter to midnight
summer rain pouring down
with my best friends
with my first real friends
on those nights that are my ideal
the ideal of being a teenager
of being young
and in love

not with a person
but with a feeling

they've absorbed these feeling
absorbed the love
the stars
and the high
the high of being alive
spinning in circles
so close to the edge of adulthood
they hold me on the precipice of something new
and when I fall
they go too

We stood in a circle in the parlor,
Jim was chatting with his golfing crones;
Her body was there for the viewing,
But we're keen on his hole-in-one.

We gave him our proud approval,
We chorused, Jim, well-done!
Then Jim took his turn on the kneeler,
To ponder before her coffin.

We all know the cold humility,
That an ace needs a load full of luck;
Yet we're pleased to hear all his details,
From the crack off the tee,
To the flag in the cup.

I waited for my turn behind Jim,
I overheard his solemn words:
... an eight iron... bounced once, then straight in...
Oh, and may you rest in peace too, Mrs. Hobin.

The phone rang and as usual I answered with that touch of vocal swagger I'm so greatly
known for.
the voice on the other end was timid and who could blame her it's not often
A writer gets to speak with a semi legend in the making well kind of look I can ******* dream okay.

Is this Gonzo?
The voice asked unsure in a world of pitfalls and scammers she had stumbled upon  the
true voice behind the madness it was like Christmas minus the annoying little ******* and terrible music.

Why yes yes it is.
Hey this is Lily Mae  it's really awesome to finally talk to you.
I understood her happiness it must have been what it was like to first realize
your idols were real  Lily was thrilled with excitement she rattled on a star struck
fan in the glow of the great one.

I'm so used to this by now as you can imagine being as awesome as I.
We spoke for hours on some of my favorite subjects like myself.
Duh what else is there to talk about well besides ******* and what a ******* this site has become.

You know you really are a mystery to most and it really works for you.
Well honestly that's mainly because of the whole outstanding warrants thing I said.
To which she laughed.
Although I don't know why being I was serious.

We chatted for hours on every subject under the sun.
she told me all about her interests like miniature golfing and arguing with  airhead teens
at writers café.

And A bunch of other things I cant recall cause I was far to busy hearing about how awesome I was .
Well you can't argue with the truth folks I know they  don't call me captain kickass for nothing.

So I bet you get a lot of girls writing you huh?
Duh of course I mean it gets so bad cause I mean I hate having to turn them down cause I'm like
yeah I know all you poetic chic's want to get with me but like I got to rest my ding ding sometime.

You wouldn't believe how bad it is I mean there's a lot of really weird people out there on the internet.
Yeah and I think I'm talking to the weirdest.

Seems this hamster was getting a bit jealous I couldn't blame her.
But I was like a wild turkey I  had to run cause I couldn't fly and that and I'm afraid of heights.
But I'm usually cool with getting high not that you should ever do drugs.
Cause look what doing to many drugs can do to your brain.

Hell the effects are clear just look at the people that run this place.

Umm Gonzo I got to go.
Seems being in the presence of greatness  had all the normal side effects
but honestly enough about peoples personal problems.

Hey don't take this the wrong way or anything.
I knew what she was going to say next oh silly fans like I told my last one
of course you can send me **** pics just not if your a dude.
Duh who wants to look at some dudes hairy sack it was just a faze I was going through okay!

Besides I had to have proof Justin Bieber was really a guy .
I'm kidding like he has hair on his *****.
Not that I would know but I mean he is Canadian it's just there culture okay.

Of course Lily just remember I have high standards I'm kidding I'm a total ****.
What she said confused seems she was experiencing a contact high yes I'm just that good.
What the hell are you talking about?

Look I know how it is to be in the presence of Gonzo
trust me even I cant keep my hands off myself.
Big shocker there Gonz  but hey switch it up sometimes and call it a double date.

Lily Mae not only is she a poet She's a pretty good smartarse as  well.

Gonz what I was going to say was .
Is that don't be hurt but your kind of  weird so don't try calling back cause I'm going to block your number.

I heard what she was saying and like most men I didn't let reality get in the way of my own ego fed
*******.

Sure she was saying I was weird and after talking to me she really wanted to take a shower .
But what she was really saying was.
She knew I was a loner a outlaw  and a true freebird minus the really long *** song
and drunken redneck fans with lighters held up.

She knew she couldn't tame the king of crazy so she would simply admire from afar like all the rest
hopefully without  a restraining  order or pepper spray that *******
**** burns much like the clap.
Not that I would know.


Umm Gonz are you there?

Yes little hamster I am and I fully understand be free my friend and stay crazy.
Uhh yeah you to and well I got to go your really creeping me out.
Adios Lily.

And just like that she was gone but I believe she took a great deal from the conversation
like don't talk to people from the internet and sometimes people who play crazy
truly are ******* crazy.

So remember if your ever alone and feel like just talking to someone.
You probably want to avoid me cause it's really not a act.
And I'll probably scare the ***** outta  you or make you take a bath  and if so I'm
just saying that web cam is got to get some use sometime.

Stay crazy hamsters  

Gonzo

I remember as if it were yesterday,
You were helping me with math problems once again,
We would sit there for hours,
Sketching various triangles with one simple pen.
I can never forget,
The college-level words you asked me to spell,
We both were in complete fascination and suspense,
As far as I can tell.
I recall you teaching me a bit of yiddish as well,
"Yachna and fashlepta chlank,"
I annuciated so well,
This was no prank.
I remmeber beating you in shuffle board,
But It still might have been a tie,
Because you played exceptionally well,
As good and sweet as pie.
I will always remember,
Our long walks in Greak Neck,
Papa and Shari bonding,
While watching the beautiful scenery from the deck.
I remember you took me to the beach in Greak Neck,
Where we surprised Bubbie with a large horseshoe crab,
Bubbie was frozen will fear,
And almost took a cab.
The late night outdoor concerts,
You used to take me to,
I became really fond of the music,
And the massive amount of ***** in you.
Now I know this next line is going to seem quite strange,
But I remember blowing the garage door open with all my might,
Thinking that is how it's supposed to open,
And proud of myself for shining bright.
One of the best of times,
Was when you took me to the golfing range,
I swung the club multiple times missing the ball,
Calling myself deranged.
The days when we all went to ihop,
And to piccolos for lunch,
Everything was delectable,
Thanks a bunch!
We've been to the movies many times,
Where we'd sometimes surprisingly cry,
Bubbie would say, "Oh, my God look at Papa,"
But your reasons for crying were beautifully justified.
Just the thought of me coming to visit you,
Makes me form such a luminous smile,
Because there is no other Papa like you,
A Papa so outgoing, loving, and all the worth while.

Three women were out golfing
one day and one of them hit
her ball into
the woods. She went into the
woods to look for it and found
a frog in a
trap.
  The frog said to her, "If you
release me from this trap, I will
grant
you three wishes."
  The woman freed the frog and
the frog said, "Thank you, but I
forgot to
mention that there was a
condition to your wishes- that
whatever you wish
for, your husband will get 10
times more or better."
  The woman said, "That would
be fine." For her first wish she
wanted to
be the most beautiful woman in
the world. The frog warned her,
"You do
realize that this wish will also
make your husband the most
handsome man
in the world, an Adonis, that
women will flock to him."
  The woman replied, "That will
be okay, because I will be the
most
beautiful woman and he will
only have eyes for me."
  So, **** - she's the most
beautiful woman in the world.
  For her second wish, she
wanted to be the richest
woman in the world.
  The frog said, "That will make
your husband the richest man
in the
world, and he will be 10 times
richer than you."
  The woman said, "That will be
okay, because what is mine is
his, and
what is his is mine..." So, ****,
she's the richest woman in the
world.
  The frog then inquired about
her third wish, and she
answered,
  "I'd like a mild heart attack."

his star is on the rise again
he's the king of the fairways and greens
he has revitalized the golfing game
he holds the number one position
he's the premier player of the world
his fans are really wrapped
his name is in all the sports pages
he's back to slay his rivals

(His Side)
I once heard this story about a couple of kids. There was a boy. And there was a girl. They shared a class. And the boy noticed her. And he watched, because that’s what he was like. He saw her laugh, they way she talked with teachers and her fellow students, and her big, round eyes. Sometimes, the boy would get really lucky and she would talk to him. He was amazed by her intelligence. By her humor. He fell for her even more. And those were the days. They would play cards in class and laugh along with the other students. They talked about things happening around them, about water balloons, and boring things that they made interesting. And they helped each other through the small things, and that was nice.
As summer came in, they continued to talk, but less so. The girl always asked about how he was. And he had the same answer every time. A mundane and dismissive response. Because he has heard that question so many times, he thought it wasn’t worth answering. He knew that people never cared, they only asked how him how he was to hear him say “Alright” or “Fine”. So that’s what he always did. And the girl grew impatient. And the boy began to realize that this question was more than he thought. She was actually asking. Actually caring. She wanted to know, unlike his parents, teachers, and friends. He answered sometimes with different answers. He was cautious, never very brave.
Then the talking diminished. He was scared, scared that he would be hurt. He felt like it was one sided. He didn’t want to pressure her with his crush and he didn’t want to be pushed away. So he cut his losses, and he went back into his shell. Like he was before he met this wonderful girl. And he fell back into the lull of no talking unless spoken to.

       Then school came back. Summer was over, just like that. And he was still alone. Always watching, always lonely. And then he saw her, in the same type of class. Everyone was out standing in the field, waiting for class to start. And there she was. And she brought him back in all over again. Her smile, the way she talked with teachers and students, her amazing eyes, her cute nose, and as he learned, her beautiful personality. And he waited. And waited. And finally, the moment happened. He talked to her again. And it was nice.
They started talking again after that. He realized he didn’t like being alone. He missed her so much. They saw each other a lot more and talked even more. He again, he fell even further in love with her. And then she offered to take him somewhere. A lake to watch the sunset. And he agreed, because he wanted to break from his shell.
They drove to the lake, laughing and singing the entire way there. And they brought their music down with them. They sat down by the water, skipping stones and watching the beauty drift by. And everything felt right to the boy. And just as the sunset drifted out of sight, he kissed her. Their first kiss. And it was nice.
So after that, it was “official”. They were dating. And they talked all the time. And they went out together. Like one night, where they picked a dark field from random and watched the stars go by. They laughed sometimes and sat together in silence other times. Their hands clenched together throughout it all. So they were happy and together. Some nights they laughed and some nights they cried. The crying nights were not bad, they helped a lot. They found each other. They both realized that the good things to outweigh the bad things, but vice versa the bad things don’t ruin the good things or make them unimportant.
There are so many things this girl did for the boy without even realizing it. She helped him. He now talked to his family and friends with ease. No more shell. Not broken anymore.
His college plan was to join the military. Because that’s what he thought was right. He didn’t like his life so he decided to try and let others benefit from it. So he chose military, for the high death rate. He was too cowardly to do it himself. But with her, he felt needed. Wanted even. Something to live for. So he changed his mind. He wanted to help people.
I hear that they are still together to this day. Still crying and still laughing. And the boy is still discovering, day after day of being with this girl, how much he can love her. How brave she is. He can never leave her because he never wants to, he can’t. He’s done it before and it wrecked them both. That would tear him up inside. So they stay, for each other. And they are happy.

(Her Side)
There was a girl.  She wasn’t anything special, just a girl. And there was a boy.  She never paid him any attention – he wasn’t much to pay attention to.  But somehow, someday, that changed.  It could have been the smile he wore, the way he carried himself, or the confidence he radiated when he walked in the room.  She believed it was watching him perform.  He was one of the school play’s lead roles, and his voice.  His voice. It carried that smile.  The very first word he exclaimed to the audience seemed to be all hers.
Life went on as normal: school, that class they shared, spending time with her friends.  It all seemed to be perfect, but no one knew how low she was; the tears only came at night.
The end of the school year brought water balloons.  A water balloon fight she organized, to be exact.  And he talked to her. He made her smile.  She never would have guessed that those ****** water balloons could’ve brought them together, but they did.  They talked every day, and she looked forward to the end of the day when they would play cards together. It wasn’t long before he told her how he really felt.  But she was scared.  She didn’t know how she felt.  She couldn’t remember how it felt to really feel.  
They resolved to a friendship, one she thought was strong.  She counted on seeing his name come up on her phone everyday as the summer progressed.  They spent some time together and, among the talking, she felt more confused, but she also felt safe.  There was finally someone she could talk to and someone who made her laugh.
She really cared about him.  Maybe, she thought, I could give this a shot.  But it wasn’t until after he left her house that day did she realize she should have kissed him.
As the regret sunk in, so did the feeling that she really wanted something more than their friendship.  After that day, she asked him to come over, to go out mini-golfing, to join her for the sunset.  She tried so hard; she was surer of her feeling now than she ever had been before.  But the rejections came.  She thought nothing of it at first.  It was just his dad saying no, or he had plans, but the reasons started to sound more like excuses.  And they kept coming.  She thought she was trying too hard, was too overwhelming.  Then his messages stopped coming.  When they did, they were brief and never satisfying.  She ******* up.  She was too needy.  He lost interest.  What else was there to think? But she thought about the times he told her he loved her smile, and she couldn’t understand what she had done wrong.  What had changed.  What made him pull away.
She went back to crying herself to sleep each night.  She would check her phone, hoping maybe she just missed it, but knew there was nothing there.  The cracks slowly started forming again.  She wondered how she could’ve been so blind so as to not see it coming.  It was obviously her fault, there was no other explanation.  She just missed him.  Did he miss her too?
Weeks passed, and the cracks eventually gave way.  She did everything she could to keep busy and not let it show.  She couldn’t show her friends – they would never understand – and, after all, the whole thing was her own ******* fault.  Loneliness ate away at her, just like time slowly consumed the remains of summer.
School started, and she was forced to see his eyes again.  But his eyes were on someone else.  He was a stranger to her now, and now she thought she knew his reasoning behind leaving her.  Because she wasn’t beautiful.  She didn’t interest him.  She didn’t have anything special about her.  And he knew that as well as she did.  His eyes were on someone else.  Why wouldn’t they be? It was obvious to her.
It seemed that everywhere she went she was tortured by his presence.  Then he started talking to her again, instead of ignoring.  She looked for every opportunity, until she found one.  She couldn’t get too close though; falling wasn’t allowed.  
Shortly after, he was on stage again.  Memories flooded back, and she couldn’t help but be pulled in like last time.  His voice was there.  Endearing and brave.  And his smile.  She was sure it was meant for her.
They talked more and more, and eventually his eyes turned away from the other.  She took another shot.  She wanted more than anything for it to work.  It did. He said yes to the sunset.  The last sunset she watched that year by the lake, and it didn’t have to be alone this time.  They talked as the colors faded.  And then he kissed her.
That night left them inseparable.  She loved him, and he gave his love in return.  Happiness had returned to her life.  She had someone to share with, to pass the long hours with, and to hold close to her.  He was beautiful.  He was hers.  And they were finally happy.  Together.

I don't think love has a definition. So giw do I know that what I felt, what I feel for you isn't love? And I know that I'm just me and I'm not inside if your head but I want to believe that you feel something for me too. Maybe it was all just a game. But I believed you when you said it wasn't. Everybody deserves a happy something and even though this whole **** thing blew up in my face I did get that. I got that happy something for a little while. What about you? I want to say that I wouldn't go back but honestly. If you showed up right now I would make love over and over again with you. I would feel pain and happiness religiously if you wanted it too. But that's the thing. Maybe I love you and maybe this is just wishful thinking but I get to decide. I choose more. I know you don't and I get it. But I would kiss you in the rain and make you laugh and try to be **** and cuddle and listen to your sleepy mumbles. I'll sing in the car and eat not enough food and go mini golfing and make love and kiss you until our breathes become one. Know this. Know that I am an option. You simply chose to give up.

I remember the first time you Said we will be best friends
I scoffed at the idea me? Having a best friend? No
But you showed that you were I told you my darkest secret
Thinking you would bail after Hearing the awful story….But
No you stayed by my side Sticking to the idea that you
Will be my best friend. You have been there at my good
The bad, and the downward Spiral. You were my lighthouse
In the mist of the storm giving me hope to see the land

Those days where we went mini golfing and me making
Fun of the way you played and beat you on the last hole
Sinking the ball in a hole in one and winning free ice cream
The days when I invaded your study hall, lunch table, locker
Just for a laugh and to see you to do our signature pose
When we went to prom and had a super great time dancing
Picture taking and making memories that stick like paper to glue

I’m hours away, miles apart but I know you will be there no
Matter what. You’re the single most blessed thing to ever
Happen to me. Every night I look at our goofball picture
From homecoming and look at how great high school
Was, but now I’m in college. You are my Un-typical spirited
silly cheerful white girl and  many things have changed but
One thing will never change in my life and I know it
I love my best friend.

It was going to be a beautiful Saturday morning - and the wind was still. Wind mattered because Peter and I had borrowed a friend's lime green Fiat and trekked 30 minutes north to play the Lufbery (frisbee) disc course. We teed-off just after sunrise. It’s a beautiful, wooded course. I used to be a frisbee-golf addict and I’d brought my gear to Yale - but only managed to play twice. I finished 8-under (for 18 holes) and Peter earned a little participation, something or other, to be awarded later.

Peter lives in a doctoral frat-house they call doc-house (the 8 guys who live there are all doctoral students). It’s a typical frat house, remarkably dark and filthy. Every surface seems carpeted and there’s a dizzying cocktail of smells - old beer, dust, pizza, cigars, whisky, popcorn, cigarettes and *** - ugg! Yes, If you need to carouse, this is the house. You hear, “You’re in the DOC-HOWWSE!” (said like dog-house) when a group of new girls show up.

In the basement, there are arm chairs that I’m sure haven’t been cleaned since someone in the class of 1955 spilt beer on them. If I sit on one - and I try not to sit on one - I keep my arms crossed in my lap so they don’t even touch the armrests. Peter’s room is clean - I had a service come to clean it (and the shared 2nd floor bathroom) before he moved in. I got him a new mattress and topper too.

My favorite of his roommates is called “Melon” (His real name is Milton). He’s a big guy, 6’3”~ish and probably 450 pounds. He’s the sweetest guy but a slob in the classic, Chris Farley mold. Peter says he already has two PhDs (One in ‘computational mathematics’, a second in ‘mathematical modeling’) and he’s working on a third in ‘decision sciences.” He owns doc-house, having bought it when the owner hinted at moving to Florida.
“Melon makes a bag-and-a-half consulting,” Peter explained, admiringly.

The house is on a wooded hill and the driveway, about 400 feet long, goes straight uphill. One time, I’d brought a couple of bags of groceries and Melon, as usual, came bounding out of the house to help me. The uber could only get half way up the crowded drive and by the time Melon got to the car he was completely out of breath. I half expected I’d have to give him CPR, but he rallied after a couple of minutes - talking non-stop, all the while - and leaning heavily on the Uber which ran up my bill (I found it endearing).

Back to my story (a lot of that was background). Peter and I were going to Geronimo’s (a Mexican restaurant). I was sweaty from golfing, so I decided to shower. I’m showering away and I hear the bathroom door open (I’d absolutely locked it). So, I assumed it was Peter. The next thing I hear is someone taking a loud ****. Then the guy starts humming - and it wasn’t Peter.

There I was, shower running, behind a flimsy, opaque-plastic, flowered shower curtain. What now? I was thinking. “Occupied!?” I said loudly, like a question - standing stock-still naked.

“Fukk” I hear him say, “Sorry, sorry, SORRY - I thought you were one of the guys!” he said, flushing, dashing out and slamming the door.

I waited a moment, killed the water, wrapped up, climbed out of the shower and wrapped my hair in a second towel while leaning against the door. It had been locked - well, the little *** was pressed in anyway. I picked up my stuff and dashed across the hall to Peter’s room.

Peter was propped up on his bed with his laptop as I rushed in, closed the door and leaned on it. “The lock on the bathroom door doesn’t work,” I said in a rush.
“Did something happen?” he asked, looking up.
“No,” I said - thinking about it, “Not really,” and I started to towel dry my hair.
That’s when I noticed that his index finger was turning back on itself in a “come hither” motion. Then it occurred to me that, wound as I was, in a small white towel, I might look like a loosely wrapped participation trophy.

Sometimes you face an army of desires - without armor.

Eleven strong went in to bat
When dusk was in the air,
Eleven strong did face the wall
For others had shown flair.
They'd mustered up a goodly score
They’d shown they had pinache,
They'd demolished Tunnel bowling
And made our field work look a hash.

Eleven strong went into bat
With gritted teeth and ire,
Eleven set the pitch alight
With galantry and fire.
The leather ball was massacred
A pounding it did score
With repetitious boundaries,
Drilled cover drives and more.

The marker looked excited
The sweat ran down his brow
And as the score did level
He had to ask the Angels how?
And the providences shone
Upon this galant Tunnel team
For Claude's classy, deft square cut
Ensured we grinned the winning gleam.

Cricket is to Englishmen
As golfing is to Yanks,
And cricket played with pageantry
Make the civilized give thanks.
And cricket played with elegance
Fills the English heart with joy,
And Victoria Park Tunnel Team
Have downed an ale to victory's ploy!

Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
Auckland
17/2/2010

The manicured lawn behaves splendidly all summer
never pushing its way through the throngs
of flower beds and razor cut edges.

How pleasant to look at a tempting golf course
in my backyard with no nine holes in it
but a coffee club sunk just out of sight of the lawn-mower blades!

I guess that's  a way away from the lady of the house
who cannot always see how men must tamper
with manicures and pedicures with brazen coffee cup
tricks to catch a bit of practice on handicaps and nine holes!

I like those Sundays, especially, when she goes off to bombard
the saints with a litany of rosary beads and complaints
on why I bring the outdoor golfing into her indoor lawns!
I don't want to talk about how poor my putting is though!

If I had all the money in the world tucked into my bank account
I could go off and buy me an 18 hole ecstasy
but that's not possible. So until my numbers show up
on the one dollar ticket, I'm happy to build my dream
on this one hole, 10 sq yard coffee cup implanted
retirement plan. How about you?

Author Notes
Mini golf course at home.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

A PLANE CRASH AT ESSENDON AIRPORT
AMERICAN TOURIST LIVES LOST
HERE IN AUSTRALIA ON A GOLFING TRIP
NOW THEIR FAMILIES COUNT THE COST

MEN OF CHARACTER AND STRONG STATURE
WITH A VARIED LIFE TRAVELLED
LOOSING THERE LIVES WHILE ON THIS TRIP
NOW THERE FAMILIES LIVES ARE UNRAVELED

OUR HEARTS ARE VERY HEAVY
OUR THOUGHTS ARE DEFINITELY WITH YOU
LETS HOPE THE FAMILIES MEMORIES
COMFORT THEM AS THEY DO

“Boys will be boys,”
The bully’s parents said.
All that talk of discipline
Went over their heads.

The older boys at school
Gathered around the kid
With the glasses on his face;
Knocked them off his head.
Their words questioning
His manhood and his folks
And nobody paid attention
To the nature of the jokes.

“Boys will be boys,”
The principal said.
He washed his hands
Now one boy is dead.

They waited in an alley
Until the boy walked by
A place they knew for sure
No one would hear him cry.
They each one ***** him
Then one guy had a knife
After he killed the boy
He called him a lousy wife.

“Boys will be boys,”
The police officer said
Then used his baton
On the black kid’s head.

A black kid found the body
Of the white kid in the mud.
He brought the local cop, who
Thought him from the hood.
He beat up on the black kid
And took him to the jail.
Nobody knew about him, so
Nobody made his bail.


“Boys will be boys,”
The juvenile judge said
He closed the case
Went golfing instead.

There were no forensics,
No witnesses were sought.
No evidence of quality
Was asked for or brought.
The system had its criminal
And quickly put him away
And that’s where he is living
Until this very day.

“Boys will be boys,”
Never really worked
It only ever pointed out
That the speaker was a ****.

Our freinds are that our family we love to have them stay
for food and entertainment its always meant that way
for laughs and lots of golfing and tons oh tons of chat
is great to see them yet again for loads of this and that

Our freinds that are our family are great to be around
making fires and washing pots thats what its all about
we hope so sure we'll see them soon in warmer climates bound
in sunny parts of Malaga a welcome home is found

Merle and June needed a break
From their Midwestern town.
Inundated with sales and receipts,
Both were starting to drown.
 
After years without a vacation,
June found an ideal
Vacation spot at a mountain resort,
And the price was a steal.
 
Ah, finally, to be one with nature!
To sit on their behinds!
To escape the intolerable prairie heat!
To put work out of their minds!
 
During their drive, Merle said, "Dear,
This trip should calm your nerves."
He couldn't see the fear in June's face
As he sped 'round the mountain curves.
 
Once they were settled in their cabin,
June's calm turned out to be brief.
Staring out the window she shrieked
"What?" in disbelief.
 
"Merle," she said, "On the path out there…
I tell you, I could have sworn
I saw a man and woman walk by
As naked as the day they were born!"
 
Grabbing her glasses to read the brochure,
June had to squint
To see that it stated "nudist camp"
In very, very small print.
 
More **** couples sauntered by
With body parts a-dangling.
"Bite the bullet," she said to poor
Merle whose nerves were jangling.
 
"Lock up all of our clothes in our safe
So no one can purloin 'em.
It states right here: No Refund, so
If you CAN'T beat 'em, join 'em."
 
So au naturel Merle and June
Enjoyed the fresh mountain air.
Then Merle got a mosquito bite
On his…well…you know…down there.
 
They started to feel a bit more relaxed
After sitting and sipping
On a few cold drinks. Suddenly, they realized:
They'd never gone skinny dipping.
 
Merle learned in the cool mountain lake
That he was a quick reactor:
Walking back to the shore he complained,
"Blasted shrinkage factor!"
 
Walking around unclad was fine--
With that they had no disputes.
But dining felt a little bit strange
In their birthday suits.
 
Swimming, golfing, hiking, riding,
And sunbathing were all fun,
But they burned parts of their bodies that
Had never seen the sun.
 
Burning his *** wasn't part of the plan,
Merle had to admit.
For three whole days it curtailed activities
Because he couldn't sit.
 
After two weeks of mosquito bites
And sunburned rumps they set
Off on their journey home from a trip
The two would never forget.
 
So, what lessons did they learn?
Being a nature lover
Is fine and dandy, but next time they'll do it
With some sort of cover.
 
And to feel the wind blow on them
Could put their mind at ease;
But they also learned that parts of the body
Don’t need to feel a breeze.

- by Bob B

From such a young age,
We are taught to give….
And I’ve always wondered,
What does it mean?

“Giving” might be giving gifts to friends.
Is a shiny, paper-covered box
With a blue ribbon and bow
How I’m supposed to say I care?

Is “giving” looking in my wallet
For some spare change during church,
So I have something to show for
When the plate is passed to me?

I’ve discovered, sometimes “giving”
Was when I let my sister sit shotgun
Just to hear mom and her argue while
I’m passing time alone in the backseat.

After all these confused years,
Can I even say what “giving” is?

I have no pretty wrapping paper.
I have no money to put on the plate.
I’m too old to argue about the front seat.

I guess “giving” is when I see the old man
Struggling with that door to the flower shop,
And opening it for him while he grins
From underneath his golfing cap.

Maybe “giving” is asking the young mother
With loads of bags, and kids,
At the corner grocery store
If she would like any help today.

“Giving” is probably handing that woman
Without a home or even a car
Some cash, or maybe some food,
Because she needs anything she can get.

“Giving” is not what this world is these days.
People have forgotten how to share.
See, the problem with this “giving,”
Is that nobody gives a **** anymore.

I dreamt a dream that a polar bear and its cub
entered a home.
A home that I was inhabiting with my mother and father.
At first, it only lounged around by the sliding glass door
(with its cub).
Very sleepy like, very casual.
But we were curious about its being around,
so we traipsed around the door, gazing at it.
Someone opened the door! (******)
and I scrammed to some little-boy's bedroom,
locked all the doors, even the doors leading to the bathroom.
Sooner than later, my parents found a way into the bedroom where
I hid.
The polar bear was trying to get in,
to eat us we were assuming,
so we hid under the bed.
Then I said, "let's climb out the window!"
So we did. We sat outside by some bushes.
My dad called me at this moment (in real time),
said the fish weren't biting and he was going to go golfing.
I tried not to sound hung-over.

Without asking for more than the simple sweet simplicitys,
I am bounded by the same laws and rules for life.
No use in explaining the values of eccentricities,
We are all tools for the media, for what they strive.
A product of the temptation for power over others, we will stay
The same forever, entrapped in ice with our sisters and brothers,
The silly dreams we have, our pursuits. A tiny bit of concern to the
Rich-who live to find the right eyeliner, lip gloss-or the best set of
Nine Irons for golfing or business suits. Some day they will
Get what they deserve, some day...some day.
But too bad for me, some day came a little too late...

An alarm goes off in the distance, and then a quiet knocking at my door.

It's barely 5 am as I find myself sinking further into the warmth of my comforter.

Fishing is really one of the last things I feel like doing.


I hear the murmured voices of my Mom and Dad.

Dad is clearly annoyed that I am still fast asleep when there are Bass waiting in the **** bed.

I hear my Mom whisper, "But Ron, she is only nine."

The words fall on deaf ears.

Reluctantly I pull myself out of bed, throw on some clothes,

and try my best to put on a face of enthusiasm.



We fill our aluminum boat with fishing gear, poles, tackle box,

thermos filled with piping hot cocoa, and a few blankets

to help keep the chill to a minimum.

The sun seems reluctant to rise this morning as well,

but slowly she starts to show her colors

as we head out to the **** bed and our unsuspecting victims.



The water is amazingly still, like a glass mirror reflecting the sky.

Our waves ripple across the water, but eventually the calm returns.

We cast out our lines and out of the stillness comes an explosion unlike anything I had ever witnessed.

A Large-Mouthed Bass with as ferocious an appetite as a Grizzly, attacks my lure,

taking it back down to the murky depths from which it came.

Eventually I am able to reel in the monster, although it puts up a pretty impressive fight.



I will admit, it is an event I will never forget, truly awesome.

Sharing a moment of glory, fun even, just me and my Dad.

Moments like these just never seemed to last.

No matter how much I wished time would stand still, it would disappear,

like the fog that morning,

lifting from the lake as if it were from a dream.



I know my Dad always wished he had sons.

Sons to fish with, play ball with, go golfing.

Instead, God gave him two daughters.



I tried to be a son.


Not only did I learn to fish,

but I watched my Dad intently as he cleaned the fish we brought in,

and in time I picked up the art as well.

Naturally I tried taking my knowledge of cleaning fish to the next level,

when I caught a plethora of small perch off our dock.

I cleaned each one with the same precision and expertise I had been privy to,

and was overjoyed to contribute to our ever-growing collection of fillets.



Dad was none to happy, however, when he opened the freezer one day,

only to have some twenty miniature fish fillets come tumbling out upon him.


He was also not thrilled that I had used his knife without asking.



I just couldn't win it seemed,

no matter how hard I tried.


I was always just a girl, not a son.



I still am.

It was 12 months filled with apocalypse
That started at the stroke of the New Year.
The more we tried to make life good
The faster it turned bad and wrong.

A wave of illness washed ashore
Like a flash flood of bacteria.
Even those who laughed at it
Were suddenly mowed down.
We hid like cartoon hermits
In our household caves of safety.

The Grammas and the Grampas died alone,
And soon their grandkids followed them.
The jobs shut down, the schools all closed.
And children could not understand
Why Mommy was their teacher.

The populace was out of work;
Their income disappeared
And folks lined up in endless queues
To get a box of canned goods.

We struggled to avoid the ones
Demanding their God given right
To sneeze and cough from naked faces,
As masks were just for Democrats -
The constitution said so.

All holidays were sacrificed
To the Gods of the Pandemic
Forced to barricade ourselves
Against the breath of others,
We all learned to breathe through paper.

Mother Nature joined the fray -
Mud slides, hurricanes and floods,
Each setting some new record.
        
The West Coast exploded into flames
While the East Coast froze in blizzards
And Tornado Alley blew away.

The sun chased all the rain away
From Arizona’s rocky hills,
For almost two hundred scorching days,
While Mercury reached one-oh-nine
For a blistering ninety-nine of them.

The weather took a slingshot to Nevada
Spring and Fall both disappeared
In unrelenting heat.
Weather played a ping pong game
With thirty degree swings for fun,
And gale force winds for amusement.

The year became an endless Summer
Dog days vaulted over Spring
And every day was August.
Autumn never had a chance
As Winter barged in months too soon.

The weather imitated life
It wasn’t long til politics
Became a quagmire of discord
When an unlikely President
Set out instead to become a King
And join the despots he admired.

As everything went bad and wrong.
Children found themselves in cages
While their parents were sent home
And often lost to them forever.

Around the world they laughed at us
And his parade of sycophants
Who aimed to tear down common sense
And use the bricks to build that wall.

While those with any moral code
Tried vainly to restrain the one
Who claimed to have the biggest brain
Yet startled everyone in charge
With weathervane decisions.

Racism grew with media’s help.
We saw unarmed people die
In graphic form repeatedly.
Black men died in frightful numbers,                                      
Too often with bullets in their back.
And once a knee across the neck
Which proved the final, ugly straw.

That drove the crowds onto the streets,
Where they were joined by Bovver Boys
Who longed to only loot and burn
And turn peaceful protest into riots.

Egotism gone awry
Sent Jack-boots to the Portland streets
With women hustled into vans
While Third ***** vistas came to mind
And Half the city Burned.

Amidst the flailing of his flock,
The Nation’s Shepherd ditched his staff -
Abandoning his sheep, but not his golf.
His only thought, to keep his crown
And stay as King atop the hill.
In desperation to find a way,
He prattled on his fairy tales and
baldfaced, maskless lies.

The righteous folk had had enough
And turned the bully out
In numbers not to be denied,
But he refused to yield his throne
And tried a hundred ways to stay.

Those he danced on Ginsberg’s grave
In order to give candy to

Were supposed to stay his loyal friends
But even they refused the claim
That all his bean bags had been stolen.

He riled the Black Sheep of his flock
To swallow his mendacity
And urged them to stampede for him
And desecrate the country’s home
While he enjoyed it on TV.

Silenced on the air at last
He skulked back to his golden heap
For golfing in the Palm Beach sun
And subterfuge behind the scenes.

Getting past the bile and guile
Will be the next big project.
But we’ve elected one who can,
And normalcy will rule again.

Quiet now, we wait and see
If decency will have a chance
To save us from the boggy swamp
To once again be who we really are.
ljm



Google: Bovver Boots UK

Dark jeans. Deep blue.
Blue V neck. Light hue.
Silver chain. Curling too.
Golfing hat. Grey as you.

This is how I dress tonight.  
Not who I am.

So ponder your words
Before you slam
The doors that could
Lead to something new.
It could last a night
Maybe even two.

Who knows what happens
After I simple smile
Or a quick hello
Or it's been a while.

Take the chance
While it's here
And hold this moment.
It is very dear.

After tonight it is gone.
Like the things I wear
Left on the floor.

Do not disregard my kindness.
It's not a chore.

The grave of my teenage daughter
is a restaurant she was born at 16.
I was told she began smoking long reds for long breaks – they lasted 15 minutes at most – and she had her first sip of alcohol there. Coffee liqueur from a straw in booth 14 from a customer who later became her lover.

The next lover was the second to slap her, and following that was the first kiss she ever received from someone she admired – even though he didn’t admire her back.
It was near the gumball machine, right between the hanging claw and the golfing game. Neither had worked in years. But the lights still flickered, and she always used to talk about how the neon chants radiated across his grimace when he asked her for a kiss.

Even he knew it was only for her.
Even she knew it was never for him.
But she agreed anyway.

The waiter told me that she smoked an entire pack of Menthols after, as if to brush her teeth, but it didn’t cleanse a mint memory. It only burned it away, etched it into the cement curb where we last saw her – drinking one last time as the yellowing sky stretched over the horizon and left her smoke as ash against the morning mist.

Contents of that Secret F.B.I. Memo

Next week the world is going to end again
When the north pole and the south pole switch places
According to secret radio transmissions
Secretly beamed from the secret headquarters
Of the secret Club of Rome far beneath
The Vatican and secretly aligned
With the secret sword of the secret Knights
Templar with the secret star WD-40
By our secret Masters on the secret
Planet Xenophobe in secret accordance
With the ancient prophecy of Cranium
The Elder discovered in a Prince Albert can
By the Portuguese philosopher and
Explorer Almoso Nutellaeus
Who thus received the dark secrets of the
Atlantean sorcerers in a secret
Language which only he was able to translate
When the Moon God Myrtle of the Aqua Kirtle
Blessed his Radio Shack TRS-80
With a rare pixie dust which can only be
Found in a certain secret plain in the
Sahara Desert at the Winter Solstice
Marked by a Bionic Blood Altar cursed
By the Knights of Toledo in a strange
Ceremony which can only be witnessed
By the Initiates of the Order of
The Cumulonimble Secret Ferrets
Of the Discalced Colossus of Roads
Whose emblematic pilum can be discerned
By pouring lemon juice over the pictures
Of the Caesars in a sacred clearing
In the secret Wood of the Thirteen Oaks
And a Loblolly Pine made when The Primal
Pole-er Bear from Beyond Time set up
The North Pole and the South Pole, and gave the
North Pole Santa Claus and the South Pole Little America
Station, and this Manichaean duality
Has set the planet in opposition
To itself, resulting in the cancellation
Of Gilligan’s Island after only three seasons
Because Gilligan and The Skipper were close
To discovering the Pre-Raphaelite
Anaemic Amoebic Astrolabe in yet
Another papier mache cave infested
By toxic golden hamsters of existential doom
Guarding a time-and-space portal leading
Directly to Oak Island where Captain Kidd’s
Lost cuff links (the ones with little pictures
Of Elvis golfing with leprechauns) can
Be found, the cuff links that channel the energy
Between The North Pole and the South Pole enhanced
By the chakra of a Hoover vacuum cleaner
Once used by Winston Churchill’s housekeeper
During the Blitz before she married her second
Husband, Trevor, who was the Hereditary
Keeper of the Keys of the Guernsey Privy
And thus a carrier of fairy blood
As required by Ye Ancient Lawes of the Booke
Of…something-or-other…which was carved in runes
On Roman skulls just before the loss of
The Island of Anglesey to Governor
Suetonius who was told by The Voices
That the Druids invented rock ‘n’ roll and
Must be destroyed so that the harmonic
Harmony of the North Pole and the South Pole
Could be restored to their primordial
Nordic vanilla pudding.

one month:

we went mini-golfing
and then to the movies.

you were so nervous.
it was adorable.

you texted me
halfway through the movie

“can I hold your hand?”

I said yes.



two months:

I had an emergency removal
of my wisdom teeth.

you came and took care of me.
I was embarrassed, but
you didn’t care.

with swollen jaws and
slurred speech and a
mouthful of ****** gauze,

you still looked at me
like I was the most
beautiful woman
you had ever met.



three months:

you weren’t paying attention
and you crashed your car.

the car was totaled.
the airbags went off,
the windshield cracked.

I wasn’t hurt at all.
you hurt your neck.

the first thing you did
was get me out of the car
and onto the side of the road

even though you were
the one who was hurting.



four months:

I spent nights at your place.
we made it official.

I let you touch me.
I wanted you to touch me.
I hadn’t felt that way
in a very long time.

we drank.
we kissed.
we had ***.

the next morning,
you weren’t gone like
I thought you would be.

you had your arm
wrapped around me.

you’re a heavy sleeper.
I smiled and went
right back to sleep.



five months:

it was my birthday.
I told you that I never really
celebrated my birthday.

I was still in school,
but I didn’t go that day.
I spent the day
with you instead.

before you,
I never felt so loved.

I spent Christmas
with your family.
I had never
celebrated Christmas.



six months:

I took my shirt off
in front of you.

I hadn’t done that yet.
for half a year,
I slept with my shirt on.
we had *** with my shirt on.
you didn’t push me to.

you saw my scars.
I thought for sure
you would leave.

you didn’t even blink.
you hugged me and
you kissed me and
you didn’t see me
any differently.



seven months:

not much happened
that month.

I got close with
your family.

you’re not American.
you had lived here before
but you had moved back
only seven months earlier.
you weren’t planning
on staying, so you were
living in your parents’ house.

it was awkward
because they were
so nice to me.
I kept waiting for
something bad to happen.
nothing did.

I started leaving
my toothbrush
in your bathroom.



eight months:

you wanted to meet
my family.

family has always been
important to you.

we drove out to Ohio
to meet my uncle
and my little cousins.

they’re the least eccentric
members of my family,
but they’re still dysfunctional.
I didn’t know how
to warn you. so I didn’t.

you met my cousin.
you realized he was nonverbal.
you sat with him and you
talked to him like he was
any other twelve-year-old.

you both played video games.
more like you played, and
he watched. but I had
never seen him so happy.
he didn’t have to talk.
his smile showed me everything.

my youngest cousin
loved you too.
you played with her dolls
and you gave them
funny voices when you did.
she laughed every time.



nine months:

we got into an argument.
it was nothing serious,
but we hadn’t argued before.

you didn’t hit me.
you got up and walked away.
somehow that scared
me even more.

I waited for you to
come back with something
worse than a punch.

you came back
with a hug and an
“I love you.”



ten months:

we went to a
fertility clinic.

obviously we didn’t
want children yet,
but my friend told me
that early treatment might
be the key to helping me.

I didn’t want you
to come with me,
but you insisted.

it was bad news.
I cried. you wiped my tears
and told me that
if we ever had a baby,
it doesn’t matter how.

what would matter
is how we raise that child,
blood or not. I told you again
how much I love you.



eleven months:

I relapsed with
my self-harm addiction.

eighteen new scars
and over sixty stitches later,
I came home.

you took care of me.
you never should’ve had
to do that, but you did.

I healed with you
by my side.



one year:

we moved in together.
you met my brothers.

you weren’t intimidated
by my brother. he tried.

he was so rude to you
and eventually you
snapped and told him
to shut the **** up.
he smiled and so did I.
he said that
you were a keeper.

you weren’t afraid to
stand up to him, even
though he was my brother.
no one had done that before.

your love for me
outweighed your
fear of my family.

my brother loved you
after that.



years:

I graduated school
and you went back
to get another degree.

we hit hard times
and we had great times
and through it all,
we were happy.

it wasn’t easy to stay.
sometimes I felt like
running so that you
couldn’t leave me first.
I stayed. so did you.

you wrote me a letter
and you asked,

“will you marry me?”

I said yes.

Why did they put that sign next to my house?

Now I can't tie my shoes

Barbecue Sunday not so pleasant valley charcoal burning burger land suburban rednecks eating broken meats

Go golfing dreded dressage looking like horse faced ***** pimps in plaid pants

Then the wife swapping sycophants punch the factory time clock nine to five jive

Teachers pet beat me up
Broke my nose so I played with the girls

They beat me up too
Go home after school only to get beat up some more

Slow Children, sign of the times
Modern city filled with much crime

Took Tae Kwon Do to defend myself
Black belt kicked me after I tumpt him over

I knocked his **** in to his watch pocket!

Master was shocked at my determined style

Now I'm homeless sleep under that slow children sign for a while...