The Thing with Feathers

In my own worst seasons I've come back from the colorless world of despair by forcing myself to look hard, for a long time, at a single glorious thing: a flame of red geranium outside my bedroom window. And the another: my daughter in a yellow dress. And another: the perfect outline of a full, dark sphere behind the crescent moon. Until I learned to be in love with my life again. Like a stroke victim retraining new parts of the brain to grasp lost skills, I have taught myself joy, over and over again.

It's not such a wide gulf to cross, then, from survival to poetry...To be hopeful, to embrace one possibility after another---that is surely the basic instinct. Baser even than hate, the thing with teeth, which can be stilled with a tone of voice or stunned by beauty. If the whole world of the living has to turn on a single point of remaining alive, that pointed endurance is the poetry of hope. The thing with feathers.

---Barbara Kingsolver---
Hide Tide in Tucson, 1995

Trust me...

This will only hurt
For a second. I promise.
Boy, you look tasty.

Oh, stop! You're too kind.
It's just my lil' ol' pilgrim
Costume...and my gun.

I'm gonna cut down
My Christmas tree...(after I
Eat dinner, that is...)

(It's no wonder men don't trust us.)

Memory Bites Quick

memory bites quick.
a sharp, cruel pang that lingers
and pales to ache, then...
your hand on my back. your kiss...
burns. I am helpless
to fend off my attacker.
"Something is missing."
your last words ring in my heart.
I try to forget
but then...your back as you left
stabs, pales, stabs again.

Possession

That which we had we still possess,
Though leaves may drop and stars may fall;
No circumstance can make it less
Or take it from us, all in all.

That which is lost we did not own;
We only held it for a day--
A leaf by careless breezes blown:
No fate could take our own away.

I hold it as a changeless law
From which no soul can ever sway or swerve,
We have that in us which will draw
Whate'er we need or most deserve.

Even as the magnet to the steel
Our souls are to the best desires;
The Fates have hearts and they can feel--
They know what each true heart requires.

We think we lose when most we gain;
We call joys ended ere begun;
When stars fade out do skies complain,
Or glory in the rising sun?

No fate could rob us of our own--
No circumstance can make it less;
What time removes was but a loan,
For what was ours we still possess.

By: Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Nothing

Where have you gone?
I look for you and see nothing.
I reach for you and find nothing.
I miss you and feel emptiness
That I wish could feel like
The nothing that is left of you.

Building on Serenity

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Though they may threaten to tear me in two. Make me know, in the end, everything will be okay.

God, grant me the courage to change the things I can. Though I feel weak, I have the power to direct the course of my life. Make me know, I am powerful and worthy.

And the wisdom to know the difference. Though it is so hard to tell when the pain is acute. Make me know, sometimes the best course of action is to "let it be."

Words Fail Me...

...so, I'll use others'...

________________________________

Goodbye

Today my heart is big and sore
it's tryin' to push right through my skin
I won't see you anymore
I guess that's finally sinkin' in

By: Patty Griffin
_______________________________

Say What You Need to Say

Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you'd be better off instead,
If you could only . . .

Say what you need to say

By: John Mayer
___________________________________

What Can I Say

Oh, Lord, what can I say...
I'm so sad since you went away.
Time, time ticking on me.
Alone is the last place I wanted to be.
Lord, what can I say.

By: Brandi Carlisle

Those Camp Boys - Three Minute Fiction Round Seven

The train carried the usual cargo, pine from the East Texas woods. The engineer blew the whistle and progressed at the normal pace, so no one would suspect. They timed it perfectly. The train would arrive at 2:00 am while the town slept. Just a regular stop on a regular route.

No chains clanked, no shouts were heard. The men were far too far from home to bother protesting or attempt escape. They walked off the train quietly, in perfect Nazi file onto the East Texas soil and into incarceration.

Otto rubbed his head. He couldn’t make sense of the impossible path his life had taken. His safe, happy, simple life; playing along the Rhine; warring with his brothers among the ruins of Fürstenberg castle. When they all became soldiers, it made sense. Now, suddenly, his brothers were dead and he, after endless motionless days aboard ship and hidden in trains, was in Texas.

He did what he had been raised to do. He threw himself into the work. Each day at dawn he shoveled eggs into his mouth, climbed on the convoy and rode to the forest. He didn’t think. He chopped and hauled. At night, he slept like the dead.

When memories crept in — his mother singing over the stove, his brothers smiling as they waved goodbye — he imagined he had been taken to another planet. The townspeople who gathered at the edge of the barbed wire enclosure to catch a glimpse of a real-life Nazi helped keep him in this frame of mind. Emotion, and certainly hope, was purposeless. There was no escape from this planet — no reason for anything other than breath and work, until her.
_________ ... _________ ... _________

After a few months, the townspeople weren’t afraid anymore. Their sons were in Germany. The Germans were in Texas. There was a strange symmetry about it. Anyway, “Those Camp Boys” were hard workers and kept the paper mill running. They were so polite and obedient; they couldn’t be the monsters in the newsreels. So, in November 1944, “Those Camp Boys” were “invited” to the Thanksgiving celebration.

Otto looked forward to a break from the monotony. He used the comb they passed around the barracks and wiped the dirt from his shoes. When they arrived in the square, they were told to stay to one side, seated and quiet. But the guards were also badly in need of recreation. Soon the guns in their hands were replaced by beers and dancing partners.

She was standing as near to the prisoner table as any girl in the crowd. Her face showed uncertain resilience, as though she were in the middle of a dare. She blazed into Otto’s consciousness like a gunshot and without hesitation he moved to her. She stood her ground, terror firing her eyes. He didn’t speak, just held out his hand. She searched his gaze for a moment and then put her hand in his.

Business Casual

Dark ink on my shirt.
Dark circles under my eyes.
Dark night working late.

Aaaaahhhh!!

Overloud

Noise and violence.
How are we immune?
Innoculated in the womb?
Born to loath silence.

Let it Be

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken-hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

- The Beatles

The Right Places

Duluth

If he doesn't come
Back this time, I'm going to
Duluth with Harold.

Live Free

We must breathe
We must struggle
It is inescapable
Time carries us
Unconcerned
As a wave carrying
One or one billion
Grains of sand

We all know pain
We all know sorrow
Our insignificance
Masked in emotions
Deeply moving
Consuming
But we need not suffer
I choose not to suffer

I have been given love
I have been given joy
I will not stomp my foot
Petulant, affronted
I will open my arms
Gratefully
Grieve when I must
And live free

Motionless

Motionless I wait.
Buffeted from within by
my heart's hurricane.

With or Without

I stand with you
At a cross-roads.
There are two paths.
You have chosen yours.
I must choose to
Go with you or
Go alone.

I lean into you
Unwilling to surrender
The joy and comfort
I've found with you.
You hold me.
You want me to join you.
But you won't ask.

Your path is bright.
Inviting.
Everything I want
Lies on your path
Save one.
One life. One little life.
Can I live without it?

The other path is dark.
Obscured.
I can't know what
Lies on that path.
A little life?
Maybe not.
Can I live with it?

Water Fall

Come Autumn Come! Please.
Bring cool nights, breezy days and
Rain! We thirst for rain.

Okay!

The Hardest Lie

The hardest lie I tell myself
Is that there is only one path to joy
And I am not on it

I create my life, a labyrinth
And stand paralyzed, afraid to choose a direction
Fearing monsters

Meanwhile, joy stands behind me
Patiently waiting for me to allow it
To walk beside me

How long will I make it wait?
How long will I ignore the truth that joy will
Gladly go with me down any path?

Positive Logic

The Truth

Re-post from October 2010...but it bears repeating.

Adeline was 78 years old before she understood. And, boy, was she mad.

Jesus, I know you're not accustomed to being spoken to this way, but you're about to get an earful. And you can't run like Billy used to, cause you're everywhere. So sit down and take your medicine.

You are in trouble, Mister. Would you like to tell me why you made me wait until my knees won't bend, my eyes won't see and my body is a roadmap of wrinkles to figure this out? This little nugget, I could have used when I was 24 with three babes under three, thank you very much. This smidgeon of information that would have come in handy when I caught Andy rolling in the barn with that Schmidts girl. Might you have whispered in my ear when my Alan got colon cancer and we lost the farm?

I've spent my whole entire life worrying. Worrying myself awake at night. Worrying so that my breath came too fast and my fingers tingled. Worrying and fretting out loud until my husband was ready for his early grave.
And now...now, you show me the truth. A truth that might have made all the difference.

No matter what, everything is going to be okay.

Unreliable Narrator

I am not in danger
But I can't convince myself.
I can't quiet the fear,
The voice inside that says,
Nothing's right.
Nothing's good enough.
Nothing's safe.

She's an unreliable narrator
Building a story of woe
That hasn't happened yet
And very likely won't.
Still she speaks
And I listen
And tremble.

What is she afraid of?
That I will suffer?
I suffer now in fear.
That I will lose?
I lose because of fear.
That I will hurt another?
I hurt others through my fear.

And suddenly I find that
Because of fear
All that I fear is realized.

There You Are

Across the table
I see you differently
A bigger picture
Of what we are together
Greater than the sum

Indian Giver

When I could not fight
And I could not fly
I pleased to survive.
I gave myself up.
Collapsing around the center.
Limp like prey, powerless.

But now I can fight
And I can fly.
I can choose when to please
And when to follow my pleasure.
I may have given me willingly
but I am taking me back.

Don't try to stop me.
I'm not feeling generous.

Who's Gonna Stop Me?

Peace

Don't despair.
Believe in the innocent you once were.
She is not lost but wizened by pain.
Shed hard won wisdom and be wild
When you feel your heavy heart overtake you.
You were happy once. You were simpler.
Remember. Feel it. Let it grow again.
She will come back to you like an old friend.
And joy can then be the sense
That soothes you as you fall to sleep.
Silence no longer frightening.
Action no longer exhaustion.
Peace.

On Egg Shells

I'm sorry before
I begin. No chance of praise.
Always wrong/dumb/wrong.

What Happened Here?

What happened here... back

When these walls were as young as

the hands that built them.

Unknown

When I thought
I had arrived,
I had barely begun.
Now I'm shy to
Believe I know
Anything at all.

How do you know when
You have learned
All there is to learn.
You can't know
What you haven't yet
Come to know.

How do you prepare
For the inevitable
Pain of finding
You were not only
Ignorant but
Sorely mistaken.

How do you
Ever breathe relief
Knowing your next
Surprise may be the
One that hurts
The worst.

Home

Time has all but stopped, all still.
Everyday the same, I wait the
Groundhog in this "home" that isn't.
Time moves only slowly as my blood flows
And in my muscles fibers that will
No longer spring to action upon command.

Ever since I came here I have
Been trying to leave. Each time
They catch me three slow steps
Out the back door. 'Now, Mr. Arnold,
Where do you think you're going?'

Home. Obviously. I'm going home.
______________________________________
Life seems to have stopped, all still.
The bluster and the battery
Thankfully and still sadly missing.
It was the reason for my maddness
Never a moment to breath, no peace.
Now I have breathe but no reason.

Ever since I came here I have
Been trying to leave. Each time
They find me before the last beat
Of my heart. "Code Red. Alice!
Come back to us! Where are you going?"

Home. Obviously. I'm going home.
______________________________________
Peace comes and cravings slow to a still.
The pain and the opportunity no longer
A constant surrounding presence.
But I feel the time coming
With joy and gut-wrenching terror
When I will again be mine to destroy.

Ever since I came here I have
Been trying to leave. Each time
They help me back from the ledge.
Remind me. "Paul, the steps, the book.
Learn and heal so you can safely go."

Home. Obviously. I'm going home.

There is Still Time

Turn that ship around.

A Fundamental Want

Just one more drink.
Only a little bit more.
I want it like
I wanted Sarah
In the 7th grade.
A want that feels like
A fundamental need.
I couldn't focus.
I failed my tests.
I ate in a trance,
Walked like a zombie,
Planned all my movements
To be near her.
All energy directed at
Touching her just once.
That is the way I want
One more drink
Every single time.

Cool Quiet

Dreams of fall in the
Summertime, wishing for cool
Evenings and quiet.

Love at a Distance

Still surprised to find
Goodbye doesn't have to hurt.
I thought pain meant the
Love was real but I was wrong.

Inconstancy and
Fear does not signal true love.
Apart and at a
Distance does not mean broken.

I do miss you but
I am not destroyed by the
Sensation. Turns out
This is how it ought to be.

Imposter

A monster they say?
Humans are so gullible.
Eeek! Here comes Nessie!

Dorks in Love

I may be a dork
But I am loved by a dork
Happy dorks in love.

Deep, the Desert Darkness

Deep, the desert darkness
Lays soft along my shoulders.
Gently it seeps into my breath
And stills my blood and mind.
Like an old friend it comforts me
And bids me unburden my heart.

Moonless, I see by starlight
After the fire has died.
The outlines of my canyon walls
Could be stripes behind my eyelids.
In this place, so thick and still is the black,
I could sleep with eyes open.

The moon rises, a herald, just before the sun
Its white a sweet and silent warning.
Soon the orb illuminating the horizon
Will once again sear these ancient stones.
Fundamental. Water and shelter, my only need.
Discovery, my only reason for being.

Poorman's House

You know you've done enough
When every bone is sore.
You know you prayed enough
When you don't ask anymore.

You know you're coming to
Some kind of understanding
When every dream you dreamed
Is past and you're still standing.

From Poorman's House by Patty Griffin

Song of the Cicada

The high machine sound
Screaming cicadas announce
Summer; hot and loud

Mercy

I'm at your mercy.
Now. But don't get used to it.
I'm not a pleaser.

Self-Scuttled

Fear covers us and
To save ourselves from drowning,
We sink our own ships.

Practiced Pain

Fickle pins prick
Smooth white linen
Drawing tiny red dots
Ignored and well-hidden
Two...four...six...then eight
How long can she wait
To whom can she cry
When the  blood  is
Too much to deny

Sweet, sweet smile

You're a slow ride down a country mile.
You're the smell of apple pie to the blind.
You're the last light on a July western sky.
You're the center of the watermelon,
You're a sweet, sweet smile.
-- Martha Scanlan

hear me

hear the words rising
from the breathe in my body
i am not afraid

it's true...i do.

Tectonics

We fit so easily,
So effortlessly.
We were naive to think
The world would move to
Fit around us.

Smiley

Plain 'ol mean people
Who think they're being funny
As they insult you,
Need a forced smiley bagging.
Schwap! I'm just saying.

Con-Fused

"Dearest, when you go,
You take me with you."
The notion, so sweetly cliche.
In practice, so shockingly raw.
My love turned to fear.

I didn't feel it happen.
Was there a moment,
While I was sleeping,
When my senses abandoned
My body for yours?

Without you I waver and bend.
Confused. Unfused.
Like my magnet has lost true north.
Or could it be that I now point
To a truer north.

Happier than...

Apart

The pain of missing
Softened by this, though apart
Together in heart.

Our History

Pieces of who we are, who we were, only hours ago.
Moments I want to keep but surely will forget.
How can I hold to the ether of this feeling?
Stop and preserve each sensation?

I dive back into the history of us
The waters are shallow,
Spilling over with an influx of the new.

How can I expand the holding place
Not simply watch our history overflow and fall away?

Heat
Those first days when we conversed in a fever like we were on fire and our breathy words might blow it out.
Sweet
The taste of the yellowjacket cocktail on your lips when we kissed like teenagers in front of the Friday night bar goers.
Wave
The shock then anger then confusion then relief of hitting the wall and being okay.
Ever
Your hand on my back in the crowd and the noise.
Your eyes on my face so focused, so honest.

Our history boiled down to a word, a twinge.
I can't trap the escaping steam.
Put a lid on it!
Build the tank higher!
It is no use
These memories will be made and lost.

Still, there is comfort.
It is what remains of our history, my love.
It is this love, our love.

Haunted

Ghosts live in this place.
Secrets clinging to the moss
Pollenate the breeze.
Bringing to my cheek the chill
Of lonely long lost.

Complete

Complete.
A sweet river burns
The back of my throat.
It fills the pit
But painfully.

Painfully full,
This feels like home.
Far better than
The lonely hell of
Fearfully empty.

More Than You Knew to Ask For

Humility is not one to command.
Power, control, impatience
are patriarchs of our small universe.
Prized, practiced, perfected.
But with a little humility,
timid and small though it may be,
the greater universe --
the one we feel but do not know --
will provide with grace
more than you ever knew to ask for.
It is a law of nature,
like gravity, relativity, mortality.
An open mind and an open heart
beg to be filled.
Closed, controlled, corrupted,
they beg to be opened, forcefully.

Trying to fit in

Belonging

an affinity
so simple
and still
so strange

wanting so long
to belong

never belonging
with anyone

now here is one
with whom to belong

belonging
so simple
and still
so strange

i belong to me
with you
i belong with you

Toothpick My Eyelids

Too happy to sleep
Time is at a premium
Caffeine required

Cycle of Red

Red of a blood sun
So short a time remaining
Brown, dead, again green

No More on the Riverbank

The river runs and here I wait,
Standing on the riverbank,
Watching others jump with ease,
Rag-doll limbs, all smiles and knees.
They thrill to fill the space within,
Until the water tumbles them.
They struggle, sputter back to shore.
I never cared to jump before.

And now a new, warm breeze blows in.
The current quickens, waters spin.
Surprised, I feel the need to jump,
Hoping, thrilling, scared but willing.
I raise my arms, run for the ledge,
and take off from the grassy edge.
Waves of cold, both fast and deep,
Cannot conquer, cover me.
Holding to the rock I've found,
I float and find I feel at home.

People Are So Strange

    People are so strange.
    You never can predict them.
    Shhh, just go with it.

     photo: Parke Harrison

If You're Happy and You Know It...

Yesterday I didn't know.
Today I do, but wait...nope, don't know anymore.
Wednesday I was afraid.
Today I'm not, oh...well...yea, maybe I am.
Tuesday I really wanted it.
Today I'm ambivalent, actually, give it.
Monday I squeeled in joy.
Today I'm subdued, but Yay!!!!
Sunday I woke up with a frown.
Today I fell out of bed, but I'm smiling.

Spring is on its way

Spring is on its way.
Tart, light, sweet. It is waking.
Puker...bask...release.

Baby Suggs Sermon on Love from Beloved by Toni Morrison

Baby Suggs called the women to her. “Cry,” she told them. “For the living and the dead. Just cry.” And without covering their eyes the women let loose. It started that way: laughing children, dancing men, crying women and then it got mixed up. Women stopped crying and danced; men sat down and cried; children danced, women laughed, children cried until, exhausted and riven, all and each lay about the Clearing damp and gasping for breath."

In the silence that followed, Baby Suggs, holy, offered up to them her great big heart...“Here,” she said, “in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it...No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. Those they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them! Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face ‘cause they don’t love that either. You got to love it, you! And no, they ain’t in love with your mouth. Yonder, out there, they will see it broken and break it again.What you say out of it they will not heed…What you put into it to nourish your body they will snatch away and give leavins instead. No they don’t love your mouth. You got to love it.”

“This is flesh I’m talking about here. Flesh that needs to be loved. Feet that need to rest and to dance; backs that need support; shoulders that need arms, strong arms I’m telling you. And oh my people, out yonder, hear me, they do not love your neck unnoosed and straight. So love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it, and hold it up. And all your inside parts that they’d just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver - love it, love it, and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet…More than your life-holding womb and your live-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.”

Saying no more, she stood up then and danced with her twisted hip the rest of what her heart had to say while the others opened their mouths and gave her the music. Long notes held until the four-part harmony was perfect enough for their deeply loved flesh.

Lo (ahhhh!) ve

"Hi, my name is Love."
"Oh, um, take a step back please,
You're a bit too close."

What is this crazy
thing that I want so badly
but fear so deeply?

Happy

Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti (1862)

Lately, I've been reading my favorite works to try to get my inspiration back. Goblin Market is one of my absolute favorite poems ever written.

MORNING and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries-
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries--
All ripe together
In summer weather--
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy;
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye,
Come buy, come buy."


Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bowed her head to hear,
Lizzie veiled her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger-tips.
"Lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
"Come buy," call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.
"O! cried Lizzie, Laura, Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men."
Lizzie covered up her eyes
Covered close lest they should look;
Laura reared her glossy head,
And whispered like the restless brook:
"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a plate,
One lugs a golden dish
Of many pounds' weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes."
"No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us."
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat's face,
One whisked a tail,
One tramped at a rat's pace,
One crawled like a snail,
One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry.
Lizzie heard a voice like voice of doves
Cooing all together:
They sounded kind and full of loves
In the pleasant weather.


Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch
When its last restraint is gone.

Make a Wish

Woody's World - Three-Minute Fiction Round Six

Charlie perches on a red vinyl stool belly-up to his usual, hot roast beef on white bread, smothered in brown gravy. Outside, the icy drizzle mimics fog. Charlie shivers and rubs his rough hands together. Vernon, his current boss and future father-in-law if he plays his cards right, sits beside him, scowling and poking at his mashed potatoes.

Though every table in the Story City Café is full, only the clink of forks and the occasional satisfied grunt breaks the silence. They’re the regulars – hard Iowa men at their midday meal. No need for discussion. Charlie picks up a newspaper and skims the funnies between bites.

The bell on the door rings out as a mother and child crash into the café, dripping and frenzied. Arms at his sides, the boy wails open-mouthed. His mother kneels in front of him and, brushing the water from his coat, begs him under her breath to be a good boy.

Forks still and the diners watch unabashed as she pulls her screaming son to the counter, plunks him on a high stool and orders a milkshake from the frowning café owner.

“Look, honey,” she pleads near her son’s tear-stained face. “You’re gonna get a milkshake! Doesn’t that make you happy?”

The howling continues.

“Don’t make him happy,” Vernon grumbles loudly to his mashed potatoes. “Make him behave.”

The color leaves her face as the mother looks from Vernon to the ground.

“Hey there, kiddo!” Charlie calls in a loud voice. He grabs the newspaper and makes his way to the boy, all eyes following him with interest.

“Look at this comic. It’s real funny.”

The boy quiets and looks where Charlie is pointing.

“It’s Woody’s World,” Charlie continues. “See, in this one Woody’s driving his truck and trailer but some oaf crashed into the trailer from behind. Otis, Woody’s horse, has gotten outta the trailer and is kicking the ever-living craaa….” he stops himself, “car like to dent it, cause he’s mad. And look! Here comes Woody and says to his horse, ‘I’ll handle this, Otis!’”

Charlie chuckles and looks up from the comic to see the child is wholly unimpressed, his bottom lip quaking, but his mother’s face beams with gratitude. Right on time, the milkshake arrives with a tall twisty straw that corks a new eruption of sobs. Charlie returns to his stool and the clinking and grunting resumes from all corners.

Later, after the milkshake is gone and the bell signaling the mother and son’s departure has quieted, Vernon mumbles, “Lemme see that comic.”

Charlie hands the paper over. Vernon reads for a moment, then, slowly, his face appears to crack and his lips bend. As he starts to snort, Charlie, watching in amazement, copies him inadvertently. Vernon begins to laugh, first in a hoarse chuckle, then in a loud belly-shaking guffaw, and Charlie follows suit. Soon the two are slapping each other and gasping for air, tears streaming from their eyes. Forks stop again as the diners turn to stare at the second outburst of the mealtime.

Their laughter finally quieting, Vernon looks over at Charlie’s plate. “You pert near done?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

Sliding simultaneously from their stools, Vernon and Charlie head to the register.
The price of the lunch special is always the same, but the owner tells them anyway. “That’ll be two bucks each.”

Charlie pulls two bills from his fold, but Vernon steps between him and the counter and lays down four bills. Turning to Charlie, he smiles and says, “I’ll handle this, Otis.”

ABC I'm JK, LOL

I can say the alphabet as a word,
but you can't hear it because this is a blog.

"I once had an abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwyxz,
but it ran away and I cried."

                                                             Say it with me:
AB(like ab)-C(like k)-DEF(like deaf)-GHI(like gee)-JKL(like jekyll)-MNOP(like men-op)-QRS(like cris)-TUV(like toov)-WYX(like wicks)-Z(like zzzzz)

Art by Paul Thurlby