It's thin, it's yellow, it's HB or #2
It's a pencil with a worn eraser.
I've used it and its brothers and sisters, all my life.

Crayons were OK, but not for my airplanes,
careening across the sky,
bravely engaging Axis aircraft.
Rat-tat-tat.

In 4th or 5th grade, fountain pens were used for English and penmanship, of course.
***** things, splat-splat.
But math was always pencils.
Double digit multiplication, long division with lots of erasings.

When it wasn't peashooter or marbles or some other season,
it was hangman in the back of the room.

In 8th grade, I wrote a 10-minute play.
Subject forgotten, but it was in pencil,
pressed hard for carbons for the other actors.

In high school, another use:
Pushing my frog around with the point,
and getting formaldehyde on it.
So I sharpened it.

I moved on to doodling in class,
during the dull parts
when I wasn't looking out the window.
(Schools weren't like prisons then).

Scribbled math became scribbled algebra,
I started shading that led to watercolor, which I hated,
No precision compared my pencil.

College boards, multiple choice, filling in the circles,
special high conductivity, ultra black pencils.

In graduate school, class notes and coding forms.
School doodling becames work doodling.
Though, I confess, I sometimes used a pen.

Late in life, my  goal was to draw "real good".
Still pencils, but graphite too.
My new favorite is 9B for deep contrast.
That "real good" thing-- I'm working on it.

So put on my gravestone, for all to view
"He wrote as he drew, with a #2".

I’m now sure it was a dream,
but then I was 11 and it was real.
I’m still drawn to the memory.

We lived on the edge of the country on a gravel road.
The country started just beyond the back yard
— a brackish pond with a hint of sulfur.
150 South Cooper.

I rode my bike on the marge,
a little harder, but smoother,
and not as dusty as the road.
Left at the corner,
west along the corn fields.
Vivid greens in the sun.

One or two more turns
and along side was a shade tree,
just across the ditch.
I put the bike to the ground
and sat in the shade.
I’ve never known such peace,
either before or after.
Time passed, supper called,
I reluctantly pedaled home.

Several times that summer
I tried to find that place,
but I never could.

Impressions of Philadelphia: May 20-8, 2023

A masked saint dressed in dollar bills. Stuffed rice *****.  Cannolli. Italian street  festival

Bentley and Porsche. Bright sequins everywhere. Side-slit, backless, plunging. Metal detectors. Prom night downtown.

On the median, a barber and a man. Haircuts for the homeless.

Black tattoos, ankle to cheek. Dark lips. Green and blonde hair.  Who needs a bra? City girl, Philly girl.

Bike paths everywhere downtown. Few bikes but lots of scooters.  Lancaster county too.

Belly button here, belly button there, here a navel, there a navel, everywhere navel-navels. Philadelphia Innies ‘n outies.

Bright colors, weathered colors. Loving, nurturing, and plain strange.  Gayborhood murals.

1st post master, mapped the gulf stream, lightening catcher, 9 Atlantic crossings. “I never discovered anything, I just made it useful”. Ben Franklin.

Overnight parking $300. At the Delaware, across from Camden.

The Rocky statue outside the art museum, golden Diana within.

Statues hanging from every other building. Avenue of the Arts.

Drexel, Temple, U-Penn. Unsolved murders. The campuses.

ATV rodeo every night. Rrrumm, rummm!  Broad Street after 6.

Phillies 12 - Cubs 3. $8 hotdogs. Citizens Bank Field.

“All things considered, I’d rather be in Philadelphia”. W.C. Fields

You have my condolences.
There, I’ve said it again.
A placeholder for real emotion,
The empty container.
A mumble in a moving line

And a sudden death?
There is sorrow there, and grief
I could relate to that, but could I sound sincere?

I wonder how often sorrow is really felt
A long, lingering difficult death.
Relief that it’s over,
long illness transforming a loved one into a hollowed husk.
Joyous death, a happy ending

i've been circling the drain,
and then i'll be done
people will say condolences
because that’s what’s said
but I won’t give a rat’s ***

Hickory dickory dock
The clock struck thirteen o'clock
Hickory dickory dock
it's time to fix the clock
Hickory dickory dock
I found an extra part

Hickory dickory dock
The clock struck fourteen o'clock
Hickory dickory dock
I found a mouse in the clock
Hickory dickory dock
It's time to catch the mouse

Hickory dickory dock
The clock struck fifteen o'clock
Hickory dickory dock
The clock has a knock
Hickory dickory dock
It's time to clean the clock

Hickory dickory dock
dot, dot, dot, dot,  dot

Hickory dickory dock
The clock struck nineteen o'clock
Hickory dickory dock
Part, mouse, noise, and more
Hickory dickory dock
It's time to throw out the clock

Hickory dickory dock
Oh, perfection can be such a mock
Hickory dickory dock

In my brain,
making something new,
understanding something old.