The Natural Order Of Things

this morning while dropping my kid off at preschool
the first thing i heard over the news think it was like
cape cod radio was about this fireman named martinez
who may or may not get his license revoked for totaling
the only firetruck in town with a ladder on it driving drunk

*

only imagine what
that scene must
have looked like

*

imagine that may or may
not get his license revoked
america being such a forgiving
country and such so ass back-
wards bombing innocent countries
showing steroid stars to the scaffold

*

then there was one of these
conferences or conventions
of some sort or another for
the board or union of firemen
located somewhere out there
in sandwich or falmouth on
the subject of failing to get
the fire trucks out quick enough in
the expected alotted time of seven
minutes to their determined destination
and this highly disciplined fire chief
in very thick irish catholic accent
who’s worked his whole life
to get himself to this position
seemed awfully angered
and agitated even angst-ridden
not reaching the projected targeted
goal and criteria and heads
were gonna roll (just threw that in)
as they all seem to take themselves
just a bit too seriously out in these parts

*

after i dropped my son off went out to the health club
to get a good sweat going and return all the flirtation
this older woman/lady who thinks she’s still
a rare beauty had been giving as guess i’m
supposed to live up to my end of the
bargain or something to that effect

*

yet have never been very good in these pressure
type situations as i have always proven to be
too self-conscious and not sure what to say
after all the eye contact as it appears to me
the only thing that could possibly come
out of my mouth is pure pornographic

and guess in retrospect
(for all intents and purposes)
it would all ironically end up like this

yet will give it my best ballpark alpha-male
swashbuckling gigolo effort while i have
never found myself particularly motivated
in this area nor performed very well under
such conditions of duress and obligation

*

as more so concerned how things
are gonna turn out for poor martinez
and that very serious all business fire
chief with the thick irish catholic accent.
________________________________________________________

Sentimental Observations

recently i have felt the compulsion to get on my
hands and knees and kiss pumpkins in drizzle

in the last call
for crows/seagulls

wing-span
of phantoms

the wind-swept lawns
the lichen of tall slim pines
like rickety ladders climbing up to heaven
the sky-blue frosty roofs of barns at dawn

i have always lost respect for those who for one reason or another grown up
standing very respectful, erect, in their yarmulkes at funerals (like clowns with
no sense of humor, kids you used to play with and now simply look resentful
and parasitic) posing the poignant question–”what the hell happened to him?”

and feel most down-in-the-dumps and grief-stricken
not so much for the newly-buried spirits but what
more accurately appears like the living dead

you flee to diners for chocolate
shakes and cheeseburgers

scratchy record of cathedrals

tug of foghorns

fossils washed
up along shore

there is very little
to base your life on

so you turn inward
towards imagination

to the whether
to seasons

your ear pressed
to the evening

you’ve become the gingerbread man peeking
over bridges at commuters rushing
into work in the morning

the old creaky clockmaker
with simply just memories

you’ll have your wife
lay out your pajamas

your prayers

internal organs

your elegy

a truly competent thief and criminal
is one trying to come to terms and get closure
over his misguided obsessive-compulsive disorder

childhood was returning home from school to see
batman and the boy wonder still once more stuck
chilling out in a giant milkshake as in looking back

at this time and place
wonder what point they
were really trying to make

yet in many ways believe
i kept on going back as i was able
to so spiritually and fervently relate

faintly remembering the image of some newly-crashed
helicopter in a mangled heap burning beneath the highway
after returning home innocently from a fun-filled dreary day of bowling

the distinct image
of damp drizzly leaves
of dim dusk eternally lingering

(these were the days of disco)

as you recall every shortcut
every stonewall and river which
twisted through pachysandra through dream
and nightmare and led you right back home

faint murmur
of airplanes
sputtering
up above

crows,
marigolds

science experiments
in kitchen windows

back of horse trailer
like some screen
from an old
drive-in

you ask your son “do you want a brother?”
“no brother, i’m eating oreos”
this seems to say it all

you vaguely remember the song–
“they can steal your…but they can’t…
i got a dream…i got a dream…”

you think how come no one ever thought to assassinate
the first lady as to me this seems just as random
and relevant and ridiculous and based in reality

you think why don’t they ever take out
the right guys as somehow parasites
like nixon that slime from alabama
lived very long productive lives

(strangely historically
hysterically romanticized)

the recipe for wanton
matzoh ball

wife hysterical at the end of day and don’t even
know which one anymore overwhelmed with
this truth or dare play they like to refer
to as the holy matrimony of marriage

every father would serve his family well
to finally kick in his television preferably
some game show or one of those reality
shows with lo and behold one of those good
ol louisville sluggers right in front of the children

eyes rotating counter-clockwise
even a bit of drooling while reciting
some really ridiculous righteous line

dog finds his way
down dark stairs
when day is done
into room of neon

again it’s television
no moon involved

like those beaming crosses
blaring on some brilliant
puddly evening in brooklyn

you wish you
had the courage
to be an alcoholic

you sweep through dark home
like a ghost trying to shake
off the day’s brainwash

you don’t
keep kosher

wonder who started praying

first started to gargle

fathom steam engines

old girlfriends
still a part of you.