2017 100-day lyric challenge: Day 61-70

61. PORTRAIT                                                                                  8/2

Poor old man

held together by crust and matted clothes

can't remember a damn thing 

like "don't click on the spam links"

and as a result 

his computer is infected again 

and I get to spend an hour

reviving the sleeping antivirus 

purging the dubious emails 

throwing away the dirty Kleenex

shaking the molding crumbs and fingernails 

from his keyboard 

wiping the unidentifiable stickiness 

from his erstwhile new mouse 

and answering the same questions 

for the 17th time

this month.

62. GARDEN PARTY                                                                      8/3

On the patio 

expensive chard in hand

I meet the wives first

they're all blond

even the ones who aren't.

We talk of suspicious cars

skulking about the neighborhood 

of raccoons in the yard

and of dogs we walk daily 

and suddenly it feels

like I'm in some Chevy Chase movie 

where some kid is about to get busted 

for an ounce of pot

that really belongs to Dad

or Michael Moore will voice over

what a bunch of NIMBYs we are

And how we'd never make it in Canada.

63. PARTNER                                                                                  8/4/17

When he was twenty four, he came back to this company to fill in for the position of a turncoat who abandoned our parents to the wolves, and miraculously he was able to keep things afloat and then even get them moving even better--one of the things he did was recognize Dad's tendency to underbid, and allow for that, but in addition he always seemed to know how to talk to Mom and Dad in a calm non-confrontational way even when they were being completely irrational, and not only that but he'd figure out what it was they really needed and then he'd do that for them, an enviable skill that I needed many more years to attain, distracted as I was by the melodrama, and in a not unrelated area, he learned when it was time to stop letting Dad do any work long before I did, because Dad's increasing dementia meant that any work he did was not reliable unless someone were to watch over his shoulder, which at first tried to do as I pitied Dad, but there problem was that everytime I tried to correct a mistake, Dad would fly into a rage, and so it turned out that the humane thing to do was to tell him there wasn't any work, just go play on a computer, answer spam emails, or edit those family photos, leaving Larry free to develop entirely new areas of business and bring in new customers; in his most canny move he got us to buy a new building which not only doubled our capacity but saved future millions from our sleazebag landlord, and it doesn't hurt that we're near the future BART station so he doubled our investment in five years, all the while remaining a wonderfully devoted family man.

64. HEADS OF STATE                                                                   8/5/17

Different heads of state

in the countries they represent:

Angela Merkel in Germany

a country where people do things properly 

obey the rules and guard the earth 

with equal rights for women and gays

and a generous immigration policy.

And then there is Macron of France 

a country divided about immigration

but united by a joie de vivre

that celebrates food drink and family. 

Justin Trudeau is the head of Canada,

where there are lots of immigrants

who are all happily put to work 

using new things and building a beautiful shiny country

that protects the environment,

guards the rights of first peoples,

and guarantees everyone  health care.

And then there's our country 

which has Trump

And in our bad days, it feels like

we have nothing else but.

65. EMAIL                                                                                          8/5/17

Oh don't you need Viagra

to make your life complete?

And don't turn your back on Obama--

the revenge he's plotting will be sweet.

Before they ban this flashlight,

you'd better buy a bunch!

Stock up on the juice of acai

for your purgative lunch

You missed your IRS refund--

it's going, going, gone!

Isn't woodworking grand?

Carve your own statue fawn!

There's offenders next door to your family

better download our map!

Are you drowning in emails too spamly?

Then boy have we got your app!

66. NADA                                                                                          8/7

It was one of those days 

Where nothing gets done;-

In late because of some childcare crap,

Long meeting that wandered around hopelessly,

Solitaire when no one looking,

Chatting around the lunchroom,

A call into tech support 

Who only confirmed that I was screwed

And then leave early to get home

And eat dinner with the crabby boys

Before driving kids home

And then watching a vapid sitcom

67. PORTRAIT                                                                                  8/8

Sometimes I wonder if the burden

of being the youngest 

wreaks more emotional damage

then we could know.

There must be something to the fact

of always being wrong,

always needing correction

and probably confounded

in a family of a know-it-alls

who enjoy a good laugh

at others' expense

For, yesterday,

everything I said,

he dismissed out of hand

and once I noticed that

he never responded with a "yes"

until it became a game to me

to see if I could trick him.

"That might cost more money,"

he said, so I repeated,

"That might cost more money?"

"Well, maybe not," 

he was forced to demure,

and I marveled at the power

of my mere presence 

apparently enough to negate

his very idea.

69. SDF                                                          8/9

I sent a letter to the mayor today

asking him to do something about the homeless

and not so much because I'm Albert Schweitzer

but more like Mr Potter, the frustrated spider

in Its a Wonderful Life

They steal and litter. They pester

honest drivers at intersections

with their cardboard signs of

handscrawled pathos

and they occupy all the parks

with their unsanitary Hoovervilles

But yes, I also think this is no way for a society

to take care of its sick and its crazy:

letting them sleep on highway shoulders

and training them on how to beg.

And us, the richest country on earth!

70. CAPITAL ISM'T                                                                          8/10

Went to Alphabet today

to collect their precious metals scrap

and bid on a furnace.

The company is shutting down

even though they have millions

in deliverables waiting

state of the art lab equipment

and a world-class staff

The COO told me

the reason that they folded

is a big VC pulled funding.

They don't know for sure

but think some partner changed his mind

They had the product.

They had the staff.

They had the customers.

They had everything except

the imaginary efficiency

of a market-based economy.

100 Day Lyric Poetry Challenge: Days 51-60

51. GARÇONS AUX QUATRES VENTS                                     7/15

Aujourd'hui mes garçons

sont allés tous ailleurs

jouer avec les copains

et moi et ma femme

nous apprendîmes comment

vont se passer nos jours

quand ils sont tous plus vieux:

nous faisions des courses

nettoyions le jardin.

Les achats, la cuisine

pour des invités demain

passions un après-midi tranquille

sans bagarre, sans hurlements

et sans ce qui nous est

le plus précieux du monde.

52. THE UNASKABLE QUESTION                                              7/16/17

One thing I've never understood

is how the parents of a teenaged girl

who was raped and then murdered

could ever cope with the world again?

What prevents you from descending

into the murderous rage of a mama grizzly

whose cub is too close to some dubious human?

What would stop you from wanting to hunt down

the murderer, the sicko who doesn't deserve to live,

to rip the very skin off of his body

and hack off the offending

penis, the hands, the eyes?

I'd want to crack his head open and

pull his brains out with my bare fists.

And what would make you want to keep

praying to your impotent god,

paying your taxes to the useless

government that didn't protect her?

Why would anything matter, any longer?

It's like asking what's the point of it all

since the universe is doomed to end anyway,

except this question is more immediate,

because this happens every day

and somehow, the parents keep it together.

Well, some of them do.

53. 18 YEARS                                                                                  7/17

A half glass of champagne 

(domestic) left over from yesterday's brunch 

cheeseburgers and broccoli for dinner 

and, as promised 

I come home early. Sort of;

at least I only worked eight hours.

We went for a walk after dinner

chatting with your Boot Camp pal

and with the retired teacher down the street. 

Now you turn in early 

and I go to my paternal duty

of watching the boys play their video games.

It was the only way to spend time with Sam,

and now Nat wants the same attention 

so I watch his game of mayhem, too

until, hours later, I crawl into bed next to you.

We didn't go stay in a romantic hotel somewhere.

And we don't need to. 

54. NEW STORY IDEA                                                                   7/18/17

What if my next novel

were about two brothers

one liberal, the other conservative

neither voted for sir cheeto, but one

is pleased with the shift

they were born in east san jose

where no one got rich from the dot com boom

and one stayed there, became a cop

married a schoolteacher

the other became an entrepreneur

married a saleswoman

ran a business that generated the income

to pay the cop and the schoolteacher

neither were part of the east san jose mafia

or the Vietnamese mafia

or the part of the problem. Until…

55. ANOTHER NEW STORY IDEA                                              7/19

What if all Americans with French

in their blood, were to rise up

against the sea of tea-party poopers

the tide of Trumpistas

the caval of big-banker greedheads

and yacht-sailing crooks

the Polish mafia, the Italian mafia

the Chinese mafia

and lead a revolution of "la belle vie"

a bagette in every pot

a bistro on every corner

a TGV on every highway

and rolling green pastureland and vineyard

where once were suburban sprawl

big-box stores, factory farms.

What if the European Ideal were brought

to the hopelessly materialist US?

It sounds ridiculous

but not as much as Cheeto Troll-in-Chief.

10 DAY VACATION

56. READING ELLEN CURRIE ON THE AIRPLANE               7/28/17

The dull roar of the engines as noise,

a second Wild Turkey on your flight,

the wife at your side, 'twixt elation and pride,

has loaned you Available Light. 

She got it from her dear late father--

irascible, learnéd and gay--

who taught in a school where culture was cool

and handicaps melted away.

Most passengers snoozing around me,

and several the squalling wee babes.

The cabin is peppered with god-is-my-shepherd 

and videos of Sam, Nat and Gabe's. 

O, the Irish wild poetry rouses 

And Irish, those dirges that cry

But Wild Turkeys sing with a laughter that brings

A bit of old Joyce to the sky

57. ZONE REDUITE                                                                        7/29/17

le siège du centre n'a plus que 55 centimètres de largeur, plus possible de m'assoir avec épaules à 57, coincé entre deux mecs de la même taille, mais au moins ils ne nous donnent plus à manger que quelques petites pochettes minables de cacahuètes, et un demitasse de café, ce qui nous empeche de grossir, et comme il n'y a pas de divertissement gratuite, nous ne risquons pas de garder l'éveil, mais préférons plutôt nous endormir aussi longtemps que possible dans ce vol d'enfer, affaimés, serrés, ennuyés, et si le bon dieu permet et on me laisse sortir, je promets de ne plus sentir supérior à ces chanceux qui ont moins de cent vingt cm de hauteur.

58. CHORES                                                                                    7/30

A day of selfish poésie yesterday:

kids and wife neglected 

while I did nothing but that

disturbingly onanistic self-aggrandizement

of trying to get published.

Submitting the same five poems 

to every zine that's open.

But today I made up for it: 

fixed the faucet,

trimmed the bushes,

dead headed the roses,

pulled weeds, hung laundry,

built her the new desk,

listed crap on Craig's list,

swept the patio,

practiced music with the boys,

washed a lot of dishes

and wiped my dirty slate clean.

59. CHECK UP                                                                                7/31/17

There's something rather louche

About sitting in your underwear

While a  young woman 

Prods you with her hands.

(OK, not all of that young. 

But, on the other hand,

Neither am I.)

Her face right next to mine

And she looks into my eyes

And asks me to look to the left

To shine a light in my pupils. 

And I wonder if I tied the back

of my gown properly.

And when I'm supposed to get dressed again?

Does she leave the room for that?

We're talking about her career at Kaiser 

And I've been her patient for ten years 

But I don't think we know each other well enough 

For me to pull my pants on 

in front of her.

60. THE YOUNGEST MAN IN THE ROOM                                 8/1

It's been many years

since I was the youngest man in the room. 

when I first joined the drum and bugle corps 

for instance, I was14, surrounded by kids

who were sixteen to twenty

smoking pot, getting in fights 

even having sex. 

I tried to play it cool 

but usually failed. Bigly. 

But this trombone chorale I joined 

is all men older than I

by a long shot, in some cases 

of course they're all much better musicians 

and play circles around me 

but they're gracious enough to make

self-deprecating jokes 

about their own confusion with the score

when I screw up.

A level of grace the seventeen year olds 

in drum corps never had.