100 Days of Lyric Poetry: Days 41-50

41. FIRST NEPHEW                                                                       7/5

Well this was going to start off as a tribute to my nephew on his birthday but the thing is Andre is a very unassuming guy, perhaps not at all comfortable in the limelight of some half-cocked wannabe poet who tries to compare him to a summer's day etc. when in reality he is perfectly happy to just be, summer day or no, and after all why not he's got a good life--nice job, nice house, beautiful wife and 2 cute kids, lives in a swell part of the country and has fun adventures—at least according to his Facebook page—which sometimes reminds me of a conversation he and I had decades ago when he was talking about what to do with his life and he told me that he could do pretty much whatever he wanted: musician-scientist-chef-cop-researcher—it didn't matter. And really, I think he's right. 

42. MY NIGHT MARE                                                                      7/6

When I was small, the Nightmare which would come for me used to be the fantastical gothic variety: Frankenstein's monster was perhaps most disturbing, but Count Dracula made his thirsty appearances, and various less monsters such as the Mummy, the Wolfman, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon. But then as I got older and my imagination was no longer fired by such juvenilia, the Nightmare had to turn to more real-life horrors: missing the train, forgetting about the exam until it was placed on the desk in front of me, or even the occasional Walking down Main Street Without Clothes. But now after middle age even those fantasms are losing their power and my Nightmare has had to come up with a new repertoire; the falling elevator has become popular, but last night's involved my wife kicking me out and me moving back in with my ex, which was bad enough on its own but then I started to wonder who was going to take care of the kids and how I was going to pay for their college if I had to live somewhere else. In other words, that very same shit show that many of my kids' friends are actually going through in real life, which of course only made it all the more horrible. Because a nightmare with no connection to your life simply isn't scary enough to get the job done—whatever that job is supposed to be, doesn't seem like a very desireable occupation if you ask me—but it's obviously an ancient profession, because the very word "nightmare" must have been coined in a time when most humans lived in proximity to and dependence upon horses, so now that the car has come along our exposure to equine malevolence has dropped to nil and all we're afraid of now is falling off cliffs or airplane crashes, elevator crashes, or car crashes, which means maybe we should drop the phrase Night Mare and call it a Night Crash.

43. MASSACRE AT TAHOE                                                          7/7

Eight little crayfish swimming in the lake

hid beneath the little rocks, and that was their mistake

for along came a boy who was jonesing to fish

and scooped up the eight for a tasty dish

One pinched a finger and raised a small welt

but the pain went away as the butter went to melt.

The pot on the stove soon came to a boil

and each little crayfish shucked his mortal coil

This tale and these claws were then dipped in the butter

and the massacre was over. Until there's another.

44. DIVIDED WE STAND                                                               7/8

After a lovely day at Tahoe

the whole family slept in late

breakfasted on fresh fruit and real maple syrup

rode a gondola up to the top of the mountain

hiked in the hot dusty trails for an hour,

then had a fancy lunch at the lodge

back down on the gondola again

and we came down to my brother's condo

changed into bathing suits, and

soaked in the hot tub

then cocktails, chips & cheese,

dinner was fried chicken, asparagus

corn on the cob, and for dessert: s'mores.

And then the family went their separate

electronic ways

I'm on this computer,

Regan Facebooks while watching TV,

Nat is on his new gaming computer,

and Gabe and Sam both watch The Office

on their separate iPhones.

45. RESCUE                                                                                    7/9

A rental plastic canoe

With three foreign gentlemen 

Tipped over in the lake

Just a hundred feet from shore.

They looked a little too excited 

To be in the water

Their splashing a little too frenzied 

And their life jackets too loose.

So my son and I paddled nearer

And that's when we saw one was drowning. 

We let him hold onto our little raft

and rowed him back to shore

amazed at the bravery of an immigrant

who will go out on the water

when he can't even swim.

46. THIS MORNING                                                                        7/10

Sultry late morning 

Fan in window

Restless sleep

Soft skin

Playful eyes.

Kids still asleep.

47. MOM AND DAD                                                                         7/11

A photo just surfaced 

of my father and mother

cigarettes in hand

leering at the camera.

Dad winking

at the photographer

Mom cooly staring

over her drink,

daring whoever took

the photo to do something

anything

even recording this

for her children

fifty years later

who would never otherwise

have imagined it.

48. MYSTERY, EXPLAINED                                                         7/12

On the radio tonight, 

a researcher explained that when

they survey a subject's political views

in a room containing stinky garbage

their responses become more conservative 

than those of subjects in a clean room. 

This explains a vital mystery to me:

why Mom became so much more

conservative over the years.

For one thing, her odd quirk

of buying flats of fruit from the farmer's market

and leaving them rotting

in every room in the house

covered in mold, great swarms

of fruit flies around them

and the rats!

She would get so angry

at me for throwing anything away,

but now she has a housekeeper.

I'm still not allowed to touch anything

but at least the flats of rot are gone.

Though she isn't any less conservative.

Perhaps because she still lives with Dad

who thinks that personal hygiene is for saps

and--uncoincidentally--

has lost his sense of smell. 

49. NOTHING SEEMS TO BE WORKING                                   7/13

Even my phone's spellcheck is screwing this up.

The wife is having a breakdown

The middle son he is in the full rebellion

The cat won't sit on anyone's lap

The office assistant didn't show up

The production staff are playing ping-pong

The customers are eating their own young

The president is the laughing stock of the world

And I think I am actually the only one left

still turning the crank

50. NOW THERE'S REALLY NOTHING WORKING                 7/14

Early this morning we got a call

from an important Customer

whose delivery we apparently bungled

who was so livid with anger

that he told me to go fuck myself up the ass

I couldn't slam down the receiver.

No, I had to swallow my pride

and talk him down off the edge.

Next, the server was attacked by malware

and I had to shut the whole company down

while I rebooted each machine one-by-one.

Then, a call from another customer

who wondered if we repaired his part

as promised

which I found in his unopened package

in the Sales office

Then another call to say

Our usually efficient shipping department

lost a twenty-two thousand dollar order

Ants on lunch table.

Then--good news? Our production manager

back early from vacation!

No, actually just more bad news!

He was only there to escape

child duty for a few hours,

and he played even more ping-pong with the crew.

Then he left.

Finally, time to go home.

But first Mom wanted to tell me

for the thousandth time

about an apology she has been waiting for

for the past forty-five years.