Every couple 'a years or so
Our family reunites
It takes a couple 'a years or so
To recover from the fights

A family like our'n
Doesn't party like most do
Ours gets a little out of hand
That's why we have so few

It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball

There's daisy dukes and forty Lukes
They're racing trucks and burning rubber
There's jugs of moonshine everywhere
And at least a hundred bubbas

There's a smoker fired for the food
the size of two large trucks
It hold 4 cows, and fourteen pigs
And at least a hundred ducks

It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball

There's pickled this and pickled that
And things you just can't swallow
That used to live down in the swamp
Way back there in the hollow

There's at least ten shotgun weddings there
And the groom might be rail roaded
But, the wedding isn't legal
If the shotgun isn't loaded

It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball

There's greased up pigs and muddy runts
And at least ten bobby sues
and when they all get greased up
You can't tell which is who

There's horseshoe pits for tossing shoes
And games of every sort
Most of them aren't legal
And would get you into court

It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball

But, it's the way we like it
Drinking shine and acting out
Tossing things that aren't tied down
And wrassling about

There's music there of just one kind
It's country and that matters
Any other sort of sound
Sets the crowd off like mad hatters

It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball

There's always someone who's so drunk
And it's normally the preacher
Last year we married him off
To the back up first grade teacher

There's Chevy trucks of every kind
And one covered in sod
Mary Lou showed her tattoo
"Jeff Foxworthy is my God"

It's the best time of the year for us
And it's sad when it must end
but, you gotta haul your *** away
When the cops come round that bend

It's a redneck family reunion
everybody has a grand old time
eating grandma's cooking
and drinking grandpas shine
You never go home hungry
If you make it home at all
You go home bruised and battered
And you surely had a ball

First I would like to thank everyone for being here today to pay his or her respects to my grandfather Robert Sohm. He would be pleased to see so many of his friends and family here today. Whether you knew him as a husband, father, grandfather, or friend, you probably had the same level of appreciation for him that I did.I would sincerely like to thank all of you on behalf of our family.  While we know that Grandpa is deeply deserving of the love you’ve shown, the outpouring of support we’ve received in recent months, weeks, and days has been truly overwhelming

He  lived a full life and had four amazing children and Seven grandchildren one being myself

His wife Pat is a great women. My Grandpa and Grandma were the ideal team.  I’ve often thought of them as the original power couple.  They were inseparable, and took care of each other for 50 years.
She is a huge part of our family and I hope she knows that we will always be here for her. Sometimes I’d wonder how either of them would ever manage should one go before the other, but over the past few days I’ve come to realize and appreciate that many of you will help take care of my Grandma through the tough times to come.  I know she is in good hands.
I know I'm not alone when I say we are always here for you and we love you
and respect you so much. If you ever need anything please do not forget that.

My Grandpa might not be a super hero, but he's my hero.
He's a soldier who had to conquer many battles in his life.
He's a fighter and someone who loved with all of his heart.
He's the "claw", and a best bud
Someone who may not function like everybody else but is able to bluntly tell it like it is and go the extra long mile to get stuff done one handedly
I wanted him to be the one who walked me down the aisle on my big day.
God has made other arrangements for him.
It's hard loosing someone who's your fatherly figure,

He was a caring person but he knew how to stand up for what he believed in and I think everyone here has a good memory of grandpa that they could share. I think we have all had a piece of us taken away but we can rest easy knowing he is in a much better place. My grandpa was a great man. When I think about him the words that come to mind are: my best bud , the claw, caring, humorous,  storyteller, and family man. These are just a few words that come to mind, but it is impossible to summarize how great a person he was in words.

He was a shoulder to lean on, a friend to rely on, and a rock for our whole family. I think about family values and how they aren’t the most important thing to people anymore. My family has always been close and always stuck together. My grandpa's pride and joy was his family.

My earliest memories of time spent with my grandfather are living at and visiting his house when me and my sister were kids. We would hide in the back room and wait for him then sneak out when we thought the coast was clear and he would come chase us pretending to be the claw.

He might have been stern with us, but Grandpa loved us kids. Family brought joy to his life — and he brought joy to us, in his own, sometimes grumpy, way.

We say that he has gone to a better place — but Grandpa will never truly be gone. He is always with each of us who loved him. It is not for us to think of him as if he was lost from our lives, but rather that we continue forth with him as our companion, celebrating and honoring his life. So I’ll think of him with every class that I take because I knew how much he wanted to see me graduate. Remember how he use to always say how someone wasn't so bright, always making sure I have a jacket when it's cold  yet be the one outside on the deck tanning when it's hot and him betting for football games. I'll always remember how much he loved going to Vegas and seeing his favorite saxophone player Carl. I will Be comforted in the memory of his smile… He’ll be in the small things and the quiet moments, forever by my side. I will miss my Grandpa, and will always be grateful for the time and warm memories I have of him.


We little knew that day,
God was going to call your name.
In life we loved you dearly,
In death, we do the same.

It broke our hearts to lose you.
You did not go alone.
For part of us went with you,
The day God called you home.

You left us beautiful memories,
Your love is still our guide.
And although we cannot see you,
You are always at our side.

Our family chain is broken,
And nothing seems the same,
But as God calls us one by one,
The chain will link again.

Where you were once my sunshine you are now my stars

I’m an apricot , ripe on the tree - ready for picking
I am a cherry , offering to be popped
3 tequila shots or the equivalent of a blurred memory inside me
my heart is bleeding a little at the acts my body is moving through
i am bleeding a little at the acts my body is moving through

i bleed for 4 days , 5 days.
i am amazed that he pulled out. i find that incredible -
as if a man is wild in the act of mergence and unable to control himself ,

ideas of male/female roles imprinted on me
from parents , **** and public school  - where girls are made into women
at 13 ,
we discuss when we will “lose our virginity” i say 15 if i’m ready (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

i should expect him to *** inside me , because i am the subservient woman and he should do as he pleases
i think it magical his heightened awareness -
i see his majestic beauty on his well formed muscles
and the hotel room his family owns , or the kick *** motorbike he drives and the supply of beachfront joints.


and still it is now 1 year later that i am in pain.


a fire on my heart and a sick feeling in my stomach
i am sick because i swallowed the lies and hated myself , i truly believed i was worth that level of respect. the fire burns swiftly in my heart because i am enraged and sorrowful at my ignorance. I am partly ashamed at my lack of empathy
for myself and partly in awe at my magnificence.


We look at virginity as pure , unsoiled.

Pure. Unsoiled.
****. Subconsciously telling our mothers , sisters , aunties and grandma’s that they are ***** for exercising their basic ****** function. Shaming us for feeling pleasure.....the connotations are different for brothers , fathers , uncles and grandpas. A pat of well done on the back , you are now a “man”.............well .. i’ll be ******..... it amazes me how these sly , low blows are hidden right in plain sight.

well fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk that !

I know i love myself now
with the respect i would rain down upon any other fellow being .

i wish : for them and me to be able to love without fear, disgust and shame.
i wish to allow my energy from that moment to feed others who need help along their path of self-love.

Now my cosmic womb is treated with respect and reverence
enjoying myself freely.

Oh but , i will say thank you , and a sensi bow , for the lesson learnt.

Never again will i put others on a pedestal they have not earnt.
Especially if it has anything to do with my *****.

Peace! God’s Peace upon you all! The Bishop blessed
The dyed-young congregation: dyed fathers ‘n mothers,
Grandpas ‘n grannies, great-grandpas and great-grannies.
The demons of decadence--Hair dye, ****** and Spirits –
Chuckled and giggled, crouching well under the pulpit.

Dyed gurus ‘n financiers, dyed lawyers, doctors n’ nurses,
****** entrepreneurs and ****** entertainers, dyed judges
Dyed ‘n spirited evangelists, priests and vergers on ******
Peace be upon thee all! Blessed the Bishop from the pulpit.
Now, the demons in the hiding iterated and reiterated it.

A Sunday spirited chat—all smiles! -- in the church portico:
The ******-dyed banker in later life smiled a dyed smile
At the elderly dyed mother of three; and she said: they say,
In spite of my age, you know, I look so young and pretty!
And the thick flanks under her chin jiggled in approbation.

The ****** great-grandpa said to the dyed Justice of spirits:
Milord, they say: “The stuff brings cancer;” Fools! Idiots!
“The gloves—the ******-like device—that’s our safety!”
“Milord! This trinity wizard, they bring a million crores
To the exchequer of this famished democracy, milord!”

“Milord! The nature lovers say, we wash billions of bottles
Of these magic stuffs into their rivers and the seas, milord!”
“They say we all-- dyed ****** men-- are sissies and doofuses!”
“Milord! Our tubby women dye young, lest they’d be labelled
Mammy, Granny, Grandma, Old Granny, the decrepit ‘n that!

Now, the dyed media reported: father mated with his daughter,
Mother with a teenager, grandpa with an infant; and Ministers,
MLAs, MPs—all spirits-******-dyed-- are in a ******* spree!
Now the Dark Trinity cried “Wow! In this world of ******,
The Kingdom, the Power and the Glory--all are ours! Amen!

"Has it not never occurred to you," he said, eyes rolling like dice,
"The grab to bake cannot be left undone?
The neck to slip will save the top of leg?
When they lift we ****** the rotten *****?
Six trots can win the flat softball netting?
Lost rocks find tabs undone by the grandpas?
It's like unbecomingphilomancy!"

You know what I mean?

A few states away, tubes hooked to his veins
Why haven't they told me it's cancer?
"He's getting a couple tests done"
"Don't worry it's nothing ***"
Why haven't they told me it's cancer?
I hear the late night phone calls
The "how's he doing" phone calls
I got a little curious
Looked at some of your messages
They said he has cancer
You said pack your bags
We are going to visit
I know he's in the hospital
But you never told me it was cancer
I heard he started the chemo
But I didn't hear it from you
I read dad's email
I just wanted to know
What's wrong with him
What the hell's going on
Never thought it'd be cancer
Last night we got in that fight
I called you a liar
You didn't know why
You don't know that I know
My grandpas got cancer

An age old chair, in seasoned teak wood
carved, a perfect work of art, nothing less than
a masterpiece, and a  reminder of so much past,
sat regally before our wondering eyes, tempting
on the central court yard of my  ancestral home,
where generations lived.
                               Wanting to sit like my grandpas of yore
I found a carpenter, perhaps the last one for this work
who understands the air that surrounds the chair.
We discussed the concept,
design and the kind of wood
it has to be  made,to create a replica
to bring back the grandeur of times past.
But then, found  not an easy task  it is
"Do you deserve it ?" the bearded
carpenter, was so blunt in his skeptic stance!
He  puzzled me  with his questions
Yet we were keen to give it a try.

The adamant carpenter relented
after many sessions of questions
and answers, perhaps my passion
did the trick, his eyes made me believe.
He promised to make me a chair
(The kind none would dream in this age)
as if it's a mission divinely assigned,
"You need to change a lot to deserve it"
he insisted, suggests a series of
purification rights  "for your confused soul"

"To fit  in to a chair like this , fulfill
all it's  demands"in my ear he whispered
as if I am the chosen one for an ancient  throne.

An  antique chair shaped by the imagination
of my distant ancestors, now changes me
and without slightest  resistance I submit;
would I ever know what is happening?

where is my indian
is it in the way i don't use my palms as a medium to transport rice into the back of my mouth
is it in the way my face turns gloomy at the sight of spice and curry
is it in my skin color that isn't as brown as you need it to be
is it in my eyebrows which aren't as bushy as per your requirements

is it in the way my tongue twists awkwardly as i say happy diwali
is it in the way amma is the most fluent piece of tamil i speak
is it in the way i didn't know how to recite the words at my grandpas funeral
is it in the way i cannot, for the life of me, name you another tamil movie besides chandramukhi?

or

is it in the religious classes i took up until age 12
is it in the ramayana epic that i learnt, age 8
is it in the sanskrit bhajans i was made to sing, not knowing what they meant, age 10
is it in knowing that ganesh is the remover of obstacles,
brahma, vishnu, shiva - the creator, the preserver, the destroyer

is it in the eyeliner drawing a bindi in between my eyes when i
head to the temple, to present myself as indian

where is my indian
is it on a checklist, is there a passing mark?
where is my indian
please tell me,
because i am tired of feeling like a foreigner in my own skin

Once there was a carnival.

It was exuberant and joyful,
With elephants and lions befriending the penguins and sea otters,
And little fairy-like acrobats leaping and zooming across tightropes,
As if they were walking on solid ground.

There was a faint smell of funnel cake and cotton candy and popcorn,
And the sound of people chatting animatedly about,
"Wasn't that act precious" or "oh, darling, look at that penguin! Isn't he cute?"

And then I got a little older.

And the carnival was still joyful, but something had changed.
The carnival had this joyful facade but it was hiding a darker exterior.
The elephants and lions were growing old, and the ringmaster,
Displeased with their best efforts,
Had started to hurt them.
The fairy-like acrobats had gotten injured over the years,
And wobbled a little bit here and there, with hints of hesitation
Perspiring on their foreheads.
The funnel cake and cotton candy and popcorn smell lingered still,
But it was almost as if people had grown tired of the taste,
And in the heat of the summer day,
The food had started to grow stale.

And then I got old.

The carnival had closed now.
Overgrown with weeds,
Stalls and tents covered in graffiti and muck,
It was now a gathering spot for children to make believe,
That they were the fairy acrobats who had once been so agile and captivating,
Or the animals that had struck terror and awe into toddler's hearts.

The carnival was gone,
but the children would run home to their grandmas and grandpas,
and they would tell them the story of how the lion was this close to biting off their nose,
and how one time the acrobat honestly did a front flip from a horse on to a bear onto a lion, and they were honest to God telling the absolute truth no matter what their spouse would say in the room next door.

The carnival was gone, but the stories would go on in a bittersweet never ending circle of intrigue and mystery and magic.

Soft scuffling of grandpas boots on the wet dirt
As he kicks a rock down the path
A soft sigh escapes his lips
And the rock falls into a small mud bath

The sun slowly rising
The new warmth spread across my face
As i close my eyes
I hear grandpa soothing voice
we’ll be there soon he says

I open my eyes to
The dew covering the fresh cut green grass
In the wide open field
The daffodils and tulips ready to bloom
Forming a shield around the new stone
That has been placed in the middle

The place grandma always loved
Her favorite spot for lunch
We’d share the pies she’d baked
And grandpas ham sandwiches

My nose filled with the smell of fresh soil
Grandpa pulls me in my little red wagon
Down the small hill
Its squeaky wheels and long black handle
A handful of daisies
And me in my white sandals

Grandpa pulls up to the stone
And a soft tears escapes his eyes
down his wrinkled cheeks
As he pulls a single **** that had grown

I squeeze his firm hand
The tears fade
And a smile appears
As he kisses my head
And looks up to the sky

Sometimes,
You can smell grandmas perfume
And pies in the field
She sits and waits
As grandpa returns
Day after day
For lunch.

I imagine god’s fingertips to be the size of every broken bone I haven’t tried to fix,
When he died he took all of it with him,
and when he came back three days later,
he became heartbreak,
a martyr of sorts, if you will,
And every time I try to talk to him, he is too tired to respond,
but I do not blame him,
he is doing his best

My grandmother’s lungs gave up on her and collapsed into dust like they once were before all of this,
like all of ours will do some day on a hill of a million sunsets,
where every broken bone will no longer need surgery,
and every bursted vein will bleed into a thousand different eternities

I promise myself that one day I will walk this world over and not stop until everything is on fire, and everyone is crying over someone else,
and I will slip into every crack and crease that my toes feel,
and I will love it and I will die for it,
Just  like how I have loved them and I have died for them,
for as far back as I can remember

the sun always reminds me of someone else,
and the problem with it is that I’ve never looked at the sun and thought about myself,
I have been too busy writing my own obituary onto every inch of my body,
so when they find me suffocated under a pile of my own traffic jams,
they will know how I ended up here,
because god knows that I won’t

I have been too busy filling my bones with gasoline,
so that when they break, you will be able to set them on fire,
I don’t want to be cremated, I just wanna burn out of here,
I don’t want to be put into the ground because cemeteries seem like our way of never ever being able to let go of what is able to **** us

We are all made of iron in some way,
I have bad days some days,
On good days I am sleepy in a lustful way,
And on bad days I am tired in a jealous way,
I’m not saying I’m unstoppable,
but if you catch me under the right light,
I might just seem that way

I’m not sure where I came from,
or where I’m going,
but all of us, you, me, everyone here,
we are all going,
and we won’t stop,
never stop, never stop,
We will go on forever and ever,
even after we think we can’t anymore

Until the angels hang us up by our shoulders and personally read us all of the sins we’ve committed over our lifetimes,
And our grandpas tell us the last stories they can remember from the great war,
And our skin shrinks itself until the only thing we have left to feel is absolutely everything,
all at once,
all the time

So while we continue to walk this wide world over,
until we grow so exhausted that every breath we take seems like fire coming out of the mouth of every honest person that has ever told us a lie,
We need to realize that our jobs consist of nothing besides simply breathing,
Simply breathing,
Deep breath in, deep breath out,
Deep breath in, deep breath out

Take it slow,
Become comfortable, whatever comfortable means to you,
Take a warm shower,
Make yourself clean,
Wash away all of the ugly you think you have left in your skin,
Deep breath out,
Deep breath in

Breathe

On the benches where grandpas watch strollers at
re-musement parks, where the oldays
come alive, conversations take on an old Wednesday
at the barber shop atmosphere,
circa Happy Days, right after ...

There could be sumthin' t'them stories,

the ones the good guys win,
some how
the
good guys win, not in the appliance business,
but
markets saturate, you know, need a gimmick,
need a hook,

eh, the c'mon, try-days, when umph was push,
come to shove and tear and take,

the puppy dog close...

what should only be given, fool.

is nothing sacred? Sweet persuasion
****? From a fifties Tom Hanks recollection of commonalities,
awe, look, Ken Burn's still of all
I think I saw now
that
I remember, I was near there, maybe a hundred miles away.

So its the weekend ...the deep end
time for chillin ...beerin and feeding our souls
room for sleeping ...wantin and needin time out

watch some footy eat me breaky and drink lots of tea
grab me hangover ...drink some oj ..eat me eggy on toast
sunday dinner ...roasty tattys and beef on the bone
Hovis ...salmon sarnies or leftovers me boast

time of argues ..family values and shoutin each out
time for reason ,time for grandpas and cousins to visit afar

So the weekend ..what a weekend
time for monday morning blues

where are the days of
grandmas & grandpas
aunts, uncles, cousins
& unadulterated, honest,
deep in your belly
   laughter?

no need to impress
   no arrogance
or show-offs, showboats
or gloating

now...
it's plastic smiles
and sidelong looks of disapproval
bad kids
ignorant spouses
and mean old women
      who judge

getting drunk to face the familiar
& dreading the sobriety
& disgusted looks
   of the golden agers

yup, gone are the days of
grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles
& cousins

enter the days spent with habitual strangers.

Life is like a random array of perfectly sculpted moments.
I stood in a moment of silence reminiscing to the tune of the wind, in the glimmer of the lights in the distance.
My life, is like a photo album of assorted moments :
The first time I met my best friend ; the half afraid,lost baby gazelle look she gave me.
The first time she cried, that big eyed girl.... Tear and kohl stained cheeks, embarrassed eyes and my hushed tone : this too shall pass.
The unexpected confession of a shy person in a soft voice : I had to stalk you a bit for this, she sketched a portrait of me for my birthday.
The awkward hug and we will see you soon, I can still remember my grandpas face red and holding back tears.
The bear-like side hug and a kiss on my forehead, it was an understanding from the older brother that I never had, thank you for meeting me.
The drunken slurry "you know more than most do" from the friend who isn't a friend anymore.
The feeble hug, lingering soft fingers and a goodbye promise to meet soon, from the grandmother I miss a lot.
Those wide eyes,the feeling of respect from the sister who means the world to me.
The all-too-soft goodnight kiss from a mother on a particularly bad night, she stroked my hair an said that she loved me.
And the pat on the back and a tearstained hug , the words "I am proud of you" from the father who is the centre of my world.

Miscellaneous pieces of life
I will list my families then you jump to your family and memories and enjoy again the special ways that thrilled then and still do today.

I have already told about my dad several times this was a mix of hobo voodoo and a poor man’s barbeque his big thrill was going
In the kitchen jerking out the rack from the stove taking it outside and in my opinion way to close to the house and put a few rocks
Down and build a six feet roaring fire the stove rack now a grill then a great cast iron skillet filled with sliced potatoes fry them a giant bon fire the trick was not to torch yourself in the process so before long those old light brown made to look like bricks shingles on the side of the house
Almost at the blistering point believe it or not a great meal would be the result how’s that for keeping up with the Joneses.

His mother my Grandma Denton a full blooded Cherokee when she was younger use to take the nine children and an old Walton’s
Pick up and head for the Indian nation in Oklahoma later when she was confined to a wheel chair for over forty some odd years as a
Five year old I would stand by her and from that chair she fired a burning flame of wonder lust in my heart that has never subsided she
Talked about the places we were going to go then a car wreck out at the then called Y at the Rosebud her going days were over
Granddad afraid for her safety wouldn’t take her out after that but he did bring her down to the farm above Opossum creek we were
Going across the road on top of the hill to pick black berries somehow we managed to get her and the car over there then we set her
Under a small tree for shade then down field in front we picked berries I never seen her smile so big and be so happy I guess when she
Died her son said that at that last moment looking up as she lay there a brightness lit up her face she was looking at her new home
Where she would soon be leaping and running for ever she would be there when Kevin her grandson would arrive I see Terry Jack two
Eaves Margaret Foil, Louie and many others I wrote about them in the curtain of time and the fun their all having makes you envious.

My grandpas were something else Grandpa Denton for his own enjoyment would set watch the fights and cuss the television well some
fighters at least and then to fix ever body else at every family gathering it was pull down the violin or in his case the cats dying screams
He never once hit something that sounded like music but he would just smile I would have turned up his hearing aid but he didn’t have
One he could hear all of that caterwauling but to him it was amusing a quart of oil would have been a waste how any one person could
Set music back that far was a curious wonder. My grandpa Brown liked to go to Toot an tellim order a large root beer and slap the
Dash board as he drank it all down without stopping we would have a contest he won most of the time.

Both of my Grandmother’s were Christian should I tell this why not she can take it now where she is but the night it happened it was
Different she kept this pint of Seagram Seven in the kitchen cabinet strictly for medical purposes well I found it the show was on I
Sounded like Elmer Gantry I got inspired oh Grandma here I am an impressionable fifteen year old and your sneaking a nip oh I have to
Call the preacher then with emphases oh I got to call somebody you should have seen her hopping around almost in tears the devil
Made me do it. Well that ought to give you a leaping off place.

When I was younger my babysitter was my sister
I would call her my baby sister but she was older than me five and a half years
A mother figure figuring out what to do
Telling me when to boil the water
Or when to change the laundry and
Put it in the dryer and
Always still having time to beat the **** out of me when she was frustrated
But I get it it's ok
It's alright we had to fight
The battles within ourselves externally and verbally
I remember when I called you fat
I didn't really know what it meant
I didn't know it would hurt you like that and
I felt so bad
I remember when grandma died
When you cried and cried and cried and so did I
Only because you were
I know I was always an annoying little kid
I remember at fourteen you fled to grandpas house and
I would soon follow because the pain became too much
I faltered and fell away slowly at first
But eventually my clarity was few and far between and
You became mean
'We don't want you here leave'
So at eighteen I put on my shoes and walked away into the distance
No more armed resistance to your pleas for abandonment
If you would've told me what to say or who to tell it to maybe I would've told somebody
Now we bounce off each other like transferred energy
A steel ball see saw pendulum
But we get along

Did I ever ride one of these casino busses?
That's how I met my wife.

Is this weird enough?
seven measured spans of ten plus some,
this bit, this collection of second chances,
in how many?
in ever,
how many spans of tens have passed, without me?
or,
without the star stuff Sagan says  
I am made of?

or I am made? I was.

That's the measure of my worth,

nay, I say.
Rue the day I told that lie

shall be my epitath, should I leave without
a-counting
them there ex
acted, mockinbird killin' days and ways we was

when we was
never governed, as a people, or a tribe.
as ids,
we was wild injuns, us kids was. we did as we pleased.

life was fine,
livin' by the river, you can imagine a cloud

occlusion of green greasewood smoke
softening a barely waking moon
four thumbs high at sundown

keeping fairy tales down low enough
that grandpas
can snag

-- and release and come back jack, right here
--to this dangling hook

and it's always gonna be this way

catch and release,

life's story your story goes on.
You never lose your place,

that's mortally impossible
to pose a

quandry
quandary (n.)"state of perplexity," 1570s, of unknown origin, perhaps a quasi-Latinism based on Latin quando"when? at what time?; at the time that, inasmuch," pronominal adverb of time, related to qui"who" (from PIE root *kwo-, stem of relative and interrogative pronouns). Originally accented on the second syllable.

pronomial adverb, eh?
Writers were warned away from adverbs,
back when grammar tyranny strained
at knots and gnostic gnats magi-ifical
add-on augmented at your own risc

made you notice
tech times change faster than Timex

Sinclair-- sorry, senility function was left on from earlier missions

Force-recon recollected war stories being moved permanently into fish story status before
legend adds a layer
of gloryshit
at funerals.

Reduced Instruction Set Chip, chip
chipping is
addiction diction
A.I. *** us a whole Yah bus win, it's
Free Play day at the Ol' Folk Home.

We sing old songs on the way to Viejas and
laugh about all we left in Vegas.

get away from me all you fools
store owners
underpaid store clerks
delivery people
disgruntled factory workers
bosses
know it alls
child molesting priests
rabbis
loud mouthed reverends
strippers
track armed hookers
pimps
johns who's wife won't give it up
teachers
shady lawyers
pill poppin' doctors
nurses
kids with colds
old people with dementia
***** dogs
feral cats
evil grandmas
perverted grandpas
street sweepers
***** garbage men
slick bartenders
waitresses
drunk people
people high on life
dope heads
meat heads
sober judges
all of you
go to hell in a handbasket
and let me live my life
in peace.

Little Bird – (Forever and Always)

When I read to Tony at bed time, there are times his little sister Lucy is there for our nightly ritual.  When all is read and eyes are closing, I say to Tony,  “Good night Tony Boy.  Love you forever and always.  See you in the morning.”

One afternoon Lucy (2) climbed up into my big chair and positioned herself just so.  When all was snuggled in, she looked up at me and said, “My love you grandpa.”  Of course I do what all thinking grandpas do… I said, “I love you too Lucy.”  A moment goes by, a little shifting in the nest occurs, and I hear, “My love you grandpa!”   Now the reasonable thinking grandpa would say, “I love you too Lucy Girl.”  Which I did.  But that was not the end of this conversational delight. Then she looked up into my face with some consternation on her’s and said, “How come you don’t say ‘forever and always’ grandpa?”  “Oh Lucy Girl.  Grandpa does love you forever and always.  Yes I do.”  With that affirmation of love she settled in with a smile on her face and snuggled up tighter.

What may seem to be a small thing to big people is a really BIG thing to the small.

I have reached the pinnacle of joy when Tony Boy and Lucy Girl are snuggled in… one on each side.  “All is well.”  At least in my world it is.

the osprey flys overhead, but the baby rabbit trembles not

~for any grandparent-poet lurking about~


the osprey overflies, a regularity scheduled patrol over
our backyard emporium and all its hors d’oeuvre creatures,
he/she has parental responsibilities, beaks to feed, PTA conferences,
the pilot, a wary watchful animal-his-rights guy, catalogues their still living  existentialism, for though they are not fish, his diet of preference, but in a pinch a rodent  or rabbit stew will do, if the fish are running too deep for no warming sun beckoning them to the surface.

Motel^ the baby rabbit, who lives with his parents,
(who doesn’t these days?) beneath the deck,
chews the clover overnight sprung, blissfully i g n o r a n t,
unawares or ignoring the poet be-laureating (him-her) but a mere
few feet above and away, pays no attention to the Poppy’s (grandfather) lecture about the rules of the animal kingdom,
who, eats whom, and to be more attentive to flying raptors.

thunderstorms forecast for the afternoon, severe say
the textured textual phone-netical all green messages, which
of course is a signal signal to the sun his job is done and can
leave the untanned poet in his state of original sin, soooo deliciously
white that he earns an appraising glance from eyes of the osprey,
a privilege he would happily tan away to promote equality ‘n stuff like peace on earth.

Motel, with his thermometer-humidity nasal instrumentation twitcher, decides, after chewing it over most carefully, time to go underneath where the white half naked people domicile, in order to avoid bathing, not his fav pastime, but making the osprey quitter le ciel, which is French for get out of Dodge, they got babies of their own to shelter and protect, even feed.

The Poppy, contented, thinks to himself, god couldn’t be everywhere,
so he invented grandpas to be “En Loco Parentis”  which
Does Not Mean Instead of Crazy Parents,
but easily could,
for who else writes
poems like this?

I'm standing in a small living room, dead center. My family and even some people I don't know, all proud Mexican people, stand around me.

I don't know why, but this memory is blurry and filled with static.

Some buzzing, angry voice cuts my ears. The sound a sharp, electric squeal. It hurts less as I get used to it, but I've been used to it. My ears tune the squeal and I know this sound. My uncle maybe. To be honest I can't remember.

My mind drifts off.

I blink in the light from the projector. Words flash across a sterile screen, something about an opioid overdose. First aid training presentation. I sit in a chair that's too small for me. My hips feel bruised.

Someone in class answers a question but I'm barely paying any mind. I can't stop thinking about drugs. I read the words in our follow along study guide earlier and now I can't get it out of my head...my head.

The hum turns into a low rumble.

I glance over to where it's coming from, the corner of a ****** apartment, the rumble creeps through the wall until it hits the sliding door to the balcony. Lightning bolt. I'm tripping acid somewhere I used to live.

I know I'm not there though. Just more flashbacks. Just more memories of things that feel good.

The phone rings.

I'm in my car, my cousin hesitates through the phone. My grandpa has cancer. I don't know how to feel because I've been avoiding him. I try to feign distress. Maybe make him think I'm not a terrible person for not knowing if I'm supposed to care…

I know I feel something. My stomach feels uneasy, like it always does. Except right now it feels uneasy like it usually doesn't. I tell him I need to hang up. I do. But it feels like a lie. I am self centered.

I am quiet.

The living room full of brown skin and brown eyes, red spit. They yell at me. My uncle's make fun of me for being ashamed of my skin. My last name is Montejano, but today my thirteen year old self has disowned my family. I'm tired of being called immigrant at school.

My cousins are solace, peace. I'm sure one of them told, but they pretend they care and some of them mean it. I am the bully in my family, I see them and I wonder if I even deserve my brown skin.

The memory sort of fades as I listen to the talking in front of me. Projector playing a slideshow. Things I should be writing, things I know. My right index finger is cut by a glass I'm washing in the sink.

The wound is large. I can see loose tissue while I wash it out. We find duct tape and some paper towels from the burgers we had last night.

I snort xanax. I'm outside.

Someone's playing guitar, I'm looking at the ceiling. It's just a memory but it feels so good.

My grandpa is in the driver's seat of a semi truck. We are passing a massive golden spire surrounded by trees. Somewhere near Maine or Virginia. As I try to remember the place we were, his face fades. His black hair is grey. And I don't remember it.

We're sleeping at a truck stop where he warns me not to open the doors at night. I don't sleep.

I step out of my dad's pick up truck a week later and it's the first time I experience perspective shifts, his truck isn't as big as my grandpas.

This is the first time I realise how small I am.

I'm pulling into a parking space as I get home from work. I can't remember how I got here.

I'm not ready to say goodbye
I'm not ready to watch him die
I'm not ready to hear I surrender and amazing grace flood my ears and fill my eyes
I'm not ready to go buy a black dress, wear to church, look my best
I need to add waterproof makeup to my list
I don't want to stain grandpas cheek with one last kiss
I'm scared, I'm crying
I'm loosing you, but a part of me is dying
I'm having flashbacks from when we played "the claw"
I see me and Allie hiding behind our door as you lurk in the hall
I see you thumbs up me every time I leave
I don't want you to go yet I'm not ready to grieve
I'm losing my best bud, "big fat moose", "your not so bright "
It's okay grandpa, you've fought your fight

there was this one time
that my family and I were
on food-stamps because my
wife was pregnant, and on Medicaid
because I got laid off,
because I was trying
to go back to college,
so that I could get a
piece of paper
that said I was smart
even though I used
crutches to walk.

because a piece
of paper is more
believable than
your eyes or
my mouth.

and, we were starving
so I used my mouth
to convince someone
in a tie that I really had
a disability, and a need
to eat.

that person, and his tie
asked me how long I’d
been disabled, so I
told ‘em…since 1975
is that long enough?

there was this one time
that my wife was pregnant,
and on Medicaid, and I bet
we were on food-stamps too,
and the babies that were alive
in her belly died.

so, I did the only thing
I could think of to do,
I got a tattoo, because
I wanted to carry some
part of them with me
forever, and have  some
part of something that I
could show you too.


there was this one time
that I worked a job
that was stuffed and
funded by grandmas
and grandpas, by
mommas and daddies;
by people that had done
the best that they knew
how to do.
and I would go see them,
check on them, making
sure that they were safe,
warm, and away from harm.

that job is the best job I ever had,
and we’re fighting funding cuts
because people think that these
folks somehow aren’t worth it;
that they somehow are facilitating
a drug or alcohol problem, or a
******* new tattoo.

there was this one time
that I was disgusted by all
the hate-mongering, lion-killing
veteran-suicideing, poor man hating,
cop-killing, killer-copping, Jesus-weaponizing
and just wanted to be a human
surrounded by other humans
and have those other humans
care about me while I promised
to care about them.

there was this one time.
and, it was a long ****
time ago.
*

©P&ZPublications; 2015
-JBClaywell

Sun rays roll down the green grass & ochre weeds
Yellow, bitter, flowers, litter the hillside
Long red rays turning pink as split figs
Orange as hot coals, blue as the ocean
Then the bustle of twilight, such noise
Streaking headlights fade into receding redness
Carrying their sound with them, down the road
Figures, sillouhetes, wander by me, quiet conversations
Wind stirs their outlines, rustles their clothing, their hair
Bringing me the scent of dust, of split juniper
Darkness descends, but it cannot ***** out street lights
Or the flourescent floodlights, glaring artifical brightness
Or the blinking red eyes of radio masts
I'll peddle back now, chased by headlights
Down black asphalt roads, black as the night
Radiated heat, gathered from this boiling day
Sweat pouring down my face, into my eyes
Breath tearing at my chest, blood racing through veins
I have to outrun the night, to make it on time
To that quiet destination, a little room on the second story
With a chair, a desk, a shelf full of unread books
A yellow notepad, a pen that doesn't work so well
Arrowheads and unshaped stones, a bullet on the dresser
My grandpas old knife, a symbol of the ****** Mary
Your charms that you carelessly left behind
A small tiled room with a shower to stand under
Watch it drain away, dirt & soap, all of it
A face stares back at me, changed, distorted
A reflection in the mirror, a reflection that was me

Discovered I forgot to post this on HP

Mar 25. 2010

Tony Boy – Chapter 2
A few weeks ago Tony was standing in the door way and said, “Grandpa?: Yes. “Grandpas need grandkids so they won’t get bored.” He is correct in that assumption since there is not a day that some surprise doesn’t pop up. I won’t be dying from boredom any time soon. I have been retired three years now and boredom is not a problem.

We were checking out at Target the other day and the checker and Tony was having a great conversation. As we were leaving, he turned around and said to the checker, “You are missing a tooth. You know that if you put it under your pillow, you can get some money for it from the tooth fairy.” The checker and the people in line were having a chuckle. Me, I laughed all the way to the car. When we got in the car he was questioning me as to why I was laughing. Oh, I just saw something funny.

Today (03/17/2010) we were in Costco foraging about 2:30. It is a great way to pass some time together. The food tables were set up and we had hit the ravioli stuff a couple of times already. The lady running it said one time she had noticed us coming in since he was in a stroller. Anyway, Tony headed back to get another sample and she was talking to a friend. As I rounded the corner Tony was talking to the friend. She was asking him how old he was. “Four.” At which she said, “You are smarter than my 15 year old.”

Tony is 5 today (3/24) A lot of people know his name. Me? Oh I am just Tony’s grandpa. A few weeks back we were in Sears to visit one of his many “friends”. Tammie was not available at the moment and we were wandering around looking at TVs. A fellow was down on his knees putting together a new display. Tony walked up to him and ask, “Do you know what you are doing?” The guy looked rather surprised and then the two got into a discussion of what tools to use. Tony told him about all the tools he has and what should be used on the job. Along came the usual question people ask Tony. “How old are you?” “I am four.” I heard the guy telling some of his fellow workers about being ask if he know what he was doing. They all had a good laugh together. We found Tammie and Tony got picked up and a BIG hug. Most of the people working in the electronics and appliance department know all about the little boy named Tony Boy. It is interesting to see their faces light up when Tony comes around the corner.

Appeared to be a normal day,
At our University of the Third Age,
Grannies and grandads writing epic lit.,
Forgot our hearing aids and blankets...
We walked away from the class,
Drank our coffees on the grass....
One old moll began this thing,
We cast off inhibitions and wedding rings,
Decided to have a greys' love-in,
One last winter's love fling,
Before hearses the morticians bring,
We were all senile, obese and ga-ga,
Our grey scrawny ***** made us ha-ha,
We gave those grandpas some thrills,
We all forgot our cardiac pills,
The old boys were gasping for breath,
Moribundi, close to death....
So, appeared to be a normal day,
On the grass, after class, at U3A,
Love-in amongst the greys,
It was grey liberation day!!!!

your my ******* brother, but you treat me like im your slave, im so sick and tired of the nasty way you look at me, and i promise i will never let you take advantage of me again, i cant believe you would even dare try and put your arm around me at grandpas funeral, you are a sick ****, and thats all you will EVER be, you make me sick to my stomach wen i think about all the horrible things you did to me when i was little, you took advantage of me in the worst way possible, and i will never forgive you!! you Jordan are the very reason why i was a lesbian for so long, after what you did to me, i pretty much lost all trust in ever guy, until i met my perfect man Nick, he has treated me better than anyone else, and he has givin me the love and comfort that ive always wanted, he is my everything, and when i look into his gorgeous green eyes, i know that everything is going to be ok as long as i have him in my life, holding me close and comforting me, so i just want to say thank you so much Nick for being the perfect bofriend to me, i love you SOOOOO MUCH!!!! and i also want to say a big ******* to my brother!!!

pass me grandpas,
old cough syrup,
strap into these stirups,
I'll ride this horse till dawn,
hope the sherrif shows soon,
cuz my six guns ready to shoot,

with the words that were written,
drawn in the sand,
a grave dug deep,
lye in your filth,

I walk this desert,
all by myself,
sand all around,
in this hell,
horse died,
about a half mile back,
got no bullets,
for this six gun,
empty retribution,

was I ready,
to **** this man,
a father and husband,
to daughter and consort,
lost his life,
to agony,
hatred,
Im just a man,
set ready defend,
what I believe in,
call me antagonist,
better than fascist,
should have shot first,
then you wouldnt be dead,
play the hero,
you thought you were super man,
your arms to slow,
so now I sulk,
why'd you want me dead,

I walk this desert,
all by myself,
sand all around,
in this hell,
horse died,
about a half mile back,
got no bullets,
for this six gun,
empty retribution,

wish I could **** myself,
to end this hell,
if this was your plan,
I wish i was dead,
me on the ground,
my blood runs out,
but i trudge on,
instead,
wishing i could **** you again.

it made him feel old
     beyond even the years
          he was managing to carry
as he judged the children
storming the carriage
raucous in hi-vis
ever-ebullient despite
their chaperon's plea
to showcase successfully
their inimitable behaviour
only to be scuppered by
a locomotive
     lack of momentum
which did nothing to quell
their impatient effervescence

as the stationary train
     held by an unexplained
          flashing of red signals
awaited its onward journey
through yet another
outbound rush hour
not one single person
elected to sit next to
or even near by
that solitary man
wrapped tightly in coat
bedecked in hood and hat
hands deeply pocketed
and eyes half-closed
blind against his fatigue
and the low-slung sun

unseen by the children
until after their calming
the man appeared to them
     as one of those adults
          not to be disturbed
like their grandpas
deeply snoring on
those rainy Sundays
or their parents
finally at peace
after one of those
     wanton days
steering clear of limbs
and personal space
they are careful to avoid
any proximity to this
slumbering stranger
fearful of the wrath
of such an awakening

appreciating their caution
     unnecessary as it may be
through his squinted
obstructing view
unexpectant and unexpected
he found himself smiling
     at what he could see
     at what he remembered
and stirred playfully
settling deeper into
his feigned slumber
careful to avoid
confounding
any of those
childish preconceptions

Dear american, I am a 19 year young soul in a vessel that does not belong to myself, but with my exterior, you would say is of the lesser and I understood the immediacy of you putting a target upon my head, and let me announce this to you now that I am not infuriated by this. Why must we still live in a time that as a young black man, I have to work twice as hard to live up to standards your own was never meant to climb up in order reach the bar for. As a young black man, why should I be ashamed of my own intellect, wanting to disguise it by ignorance or to impress you with the dribbling of a ball or the handling of a mic? Dear America, my great grandfather did not have a middle school education, but even in the least that does not make him "another dumb"_" rephrase, an uneducated person, for the work he knew how to do with his hands makes up for those years missed, and the hands of a man like his tells a story your own great grandfather could never tell. To this day I still look up to him, for he had class, he had knowledge, he had wisdom he had God. He had God! Dear America, I will not sell myself short of my dreams just to become another number of your system. Dear American, I wonder if one day you'll understand. The hands that I have to offer you, will not share what my grandpas had. But my brown eyes will tell you mystory. My skin brown skin will tell you our story. My presence will alert every one of you the moment I succeed, you will frown at the thought of another successful black man. Ashamed of your own son, because he let another young black boy beat his own rank. Dear America, why must you be the police of the world when you cannot face your own issues at home? Dear America, I write you this letter in hopes that it Speaks to you. Dear America, I am not afraid. Dear America, I will stand my ground. Dear America, my hands are still held high. Dear American, I wonder how I made it to the end of this poem, because I still can't breathe. Dear America, why have you put the fear in our mother's eyes allowing them to believe that if their sons do not obey you, we can be here one second and gone the next? Dear American, do you realize that this message I am unraveling is too real to go unnoticed? Dear American, do you see that my message is too hard to make up? Dear America

I woke up this morning
And made coffee and got in the car
I drove half-way to work when I saw that same
God ****** Jesus Loves You billboard on 95
I turned around and went back to fish in the inlet
I spent the rest of the day smoking my grandpas pipe
And cutting my fingers with a pocket knife
I hope I get fired

I am from loud voices. Ones that never hear you ask for a cup of water, a breath of fresh air, or a hand to hold. I am from wrinkly grandmas without grandpas because they are far above Indiana, meeting God with a warm sunshine smile-- finally forgiven. From cigarette smoke and the phrase “I’ll stop when I’m skinny”, "no, I don't believe you I know we’re all addicted to something." We have to remind ourselves of how easily we perish. From big scoops of ice cream while my dad tells me that my grandmother used to be beautiful.  From women who only talk about grocery store prices because they have spent their whole lives at the checkout counter, waiting for a man to tell them they were worth more than celery sticks and strawberry wine. From boyfriends and girlfriends, cousins that take their date to the shed and kiss strawberry wine soaked lips and whisper, “I need you. Please do not leave me.” like a family heirloom. We've always confused the words need and love, they roll off tongues like sinister synonyms. From boots that were made to walk out. Leave. And then come back, dressed in apologies. From becoming an apology. From boys that look at my younger cousin, my babygirl and call her baby. They make her forget the times she was brave, kiss her so hard that she forgets that I believe in her, that God believes in her. From wide-eyed girls that fall in love with boys whose first word was "take". From curly hair and soft edges. From mistakes that no one forgets. From men who wear anger like a wedding ring, punch fists into shed doors and jaws. From sweet tea and, I know I sound like a country song, the best apple pie you've ever tasted. From exchanging recipes like tokens of appreciation. From never quite knowing how to say goodbye. From passing city limits with tears in your eyes, the same ones you cried when you thought you had to stay.

I remember,

When I was 4 or 5 and we went into the garden of giant sunflowers in our front yard, and me and my brother wore over sized t-shirts and let hundreds of lady bugs crawl all over us as we laughed and giggled with mom.

When me and my brother took pictures for our family photos in the hallway and we got all dressed up for the first time and we hugged and connected for the first time.

When we visited grandpas house and he watched us play the piano badly while we had a tea party with chocolate milk.

When in preschool I was put into an art class with the older children who picked on me, and eventually I hid under a table and cried for my mother to come get me, resulting in me getting kicked out of that preschool because I bit the teachers hand after she called me a ridiculous idiot and tried to grab me from under the table.

When I was in kindergarten and all the other kids played with construction work toys as I asked the teacher if I could color instead. She forced me to play with the other children as they threw fake plastic rocks in my face.

When I was put into another art class with older kids where none of them accepted me and I was screamed at and kicked out by the teacher after one class because I colored a face on a person orange, since I had no skin colored crayons or pencils.

When I sat on the playground alone and had children make rumors all around me about me as a teacher tried to force the other kids to play with me.

When a boy thought I liked him and decided to come up to me, in class, in front of everyone and make it apparent that he never did, and never would like me because he thought I was ugly and fat, and the class agreed.

When one of the teachers told me that I would never amount to anything in my life because I could not pass one of my math tests. She then proceeded to show me her "golden paper clip" and tell me that I was worth nothing and would never have the honor of earning that award.

When I tried to stand up for myself for once by telling one of the girls who bullied me that I didn't like what she said to me, and she found me one day waiting for my mom to come pick me up after school, as i sat on the swing set. She brought her older cousin who twisted me in the swing so that the chains wrapped around my neck and I could barely breathe. He told me if I ever said something like that to his little cousin again, he would **** me.

When I won a talent show for the first time in my life, and I felt so good about myself, until a girl came up to me with a small group of her friends and kicked me to the ground, saying I didn't deserve it.

When I was forced to run in a track meet or my school and I vomited after running as a lot of angry families told me how worthless I was because I came in last.

When I transferred schools and nothing changed. I still had no friends and everyone made fun of me behind my back, and a few times, to my face.

When I made actual friends for the first time and I felt accepted.

When on of those "friends" told me that I was a sinner because I don't believe in god, and she tried to force me to read a bible she brought to school for me everyday.

When I was called into the counselors office for getting in a fight in class with a girl and her friend after they called me a b----. The counselor made me out to be the bad guy for standing up for myself.

When a teacher pulled me aside and told me that I smelled like crap and she thought that's why children didn't like me, but when I asked my friends, they said she smells, not me, and that she has tried to pass it off onto other children before too, saying the same thing she said to me.

When I auditioned for choir in Junior High and all the other girls told me that I would never make it in, because I was a fat girl who couldn't sing, and no one wanted to hear or see that.

When I had my first day of Honor Choir in Junior High, and all the girls didn't think it was right that I made it in, so they pushed me off the top of the risers and onto the floor while telling me that I was an idiot who didn't know what they were doing, and laughing at me.

When I actually won a singing competition for our school and got praised by my choir teacher.

When my mom sat in the car with me crying and telling me that her and dad were getting a divorce and that she wanted me to live with my dad and make sure he was okay.

When my brother got in a big fight with me and hit me for the first time.

When I moved to the new house with my father and my mom called me, crying one night because she thought I liked my dad better than her.

When my dad told me that I was a worthless human being because I was having a panic attack at midnight in our living room.

When my dad slapped me across the face for having another panic attack in front of him and his girlfriend.

When my dad woke me up in the middle of the night and started screaming at me to get the hell up and pack my bags because he was taking me to my mothers house. I went in crying my eyes out and as I hugged by my mother and brother.

When my dads wife started fighting with me and my mother, threatening our lives as they tried to get custody of my brother and said she would never want me in their house ever again. She continues to bully me.

When I broke down on the side of the road in my car with my brother and started to have a panic attack. My brother screamed at me to shut the hell up and I considered running into the road and getting hit by a car to end it all.

When my mom almost killed herself by taking to many pills when she was sad and I had to watch her until she finally fell asleep in bed and I almost missed school the next day because I was so worried about her.

I remember. You might pretend to forget or act like it never happened, but I won't forget. Ever.

Three not blind, with cardboard sign
In Bold black sharpie ink,
Reminding neighbors of common mind
Kindly give a drink.

They put together what coins collected
A combined sum of wine or beer
Teamwork in winter cold deflected
Lessens the pangs and concrete tears

The guys are yours and also mine
Uncle grandpas and bro's alike
Vegas Christmas for good guy joe
The traffic lights as mistletoe

Blue concrete here as harsh as snow
With mobile bedroom / shopping cart
Grey as grime of blankets, throws
And layers of sweaters with reindeer art

With what I know and what I lack
Cannot and does not change the facts
They have melted into the city scene
If only I could gift wrap peace...

They could be you, your neighbors' drunk
Who's wives have left them in their dust
I wonder if they are thankful to wake
Or has the morn gone sour in shame

When day is gone, traffic at night glows
Green, yellow, red artificial burning coals
As the ground shines blue and gutter grey
Drains the fight inside as they walk away

We all become prisoners
Unable to make a change
For now at least make it merry
Till the sun returns in May

The cardboard sign reminds the bus
In this moment we are the same...