Gratuitous Dread Presence

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So today I am in the midst of the American heartland working on a survey of public opinion. It's a survey of mostly political and social issues, so it is a little volatile, and the area in which I am working is very conservative. i spend my days going from address to address, standing on people's front porches or sitting in their living rooms and ask questions that most people don't bring up in polite company. People don't raise their voices or gesture angrily when I ask my questions but it is quite clear to me that they are pissed off. And they have a right to be angry.

My wife asked me why they had the 'right' to be angry. I explained that my view was that being angry was an emotional response, and people do have a right to be emotional, even if it's for the wrong reasons. Being angry is an opinion, and only the holder of that opinion can clearly see their justification.

Conservatives have a right to be angry because they aren't happy with the changes that have happened in our country. The way society and economy has evolved has left many people struggling to maintain their lifestyle in the face of a faceless economic engine that takes advantage of them at every turn, by pushing down the value of their labor while raising their ire at social changes brought on by society becoming 'woke.'

To make matters worse, they found a champion in Donald Trump, a person who addressed their concerns in the plain and broad language they wanted to hear. Trump won in 2016, but quickly became bogged down by a lot of what they viewed as petty and hateful obstruction to the great agenda Trump was supposed to bring. The 2020 election drove Trump out, and now these people are feeling rejected by the will of the people that they do not see or hear in their daily lives.

Liberals are pissed off, too. They hide their anger a bit better and are happy that there is someone more akin to their thinking in the White House, but it still shows. they wonder how people can be so stupid to not believe in what they do because if they just listened it would all make sense. They fear what might happen, and fear makes people angry.

One thing I've noticed is that it doesn't make any difference what kind of flag they're flying in front of their house, or what their bumper stickers say. When they face my battery of questions they all end up sounding exactly the same. Towards the end of the questionnaire there is a question asking people if they care about other people's problems. The answers I collect are across the board--and don't appear to follow any kind of pattern that I can ascertain from my view.

Maybe that's the problem here in America. None of us are willing to care about somebody else's problems.

26.01.10u

Can I complain about the status of the government

Hypocritical vestige of an ideal

Beset in the petty of the gravel and assorted trash

Found in in a dry urban gutter

Or an instance of injustice

My indignancies braying and echoing across

A place groomed for sport

Delicate instrument lit with sodium and electricity

So it seems brighter if I reboot

Slurping qualm because of the good fight

Red Oak

Coming from an island of blue-green water
the murmur of laughter and fun times
muddled by the still, hot air
splashing whiffs of chlorine
and I am no longer a man
but a plant.

But not just a plant but a tree
better then that a mighty red oak
standing stiffly in the lack of breeze
my gnarly and weather worn branches
casting about sudden shadows
spreading the wisdom of shade
in patterns that grow longer
as the day grows older
an articulate soldier.

Children come to graze upon my mottled bark
and mock the insects I harbor
they laugh and name the squirrels who race high
scavenging my seeds in which I have spit among my leaves
but what they call mold I call moss
and if they don't understand it is no great loss
because here I still stand.

At my feet lies summertime
the sun is so close and hot
children cavort beneath my branches
a random breeze brings a promise of coolness
and I am no longer a man.

Izzy's Hat

Isabella left her hat
upon a post painted green
next to the well
where it would respond to the folly of a vicious wind
in the early summer.

I watched it as I left
knowing that she was going to miss it
yet powerless as the march of time
commanded my presence elsewhere
I was sympathetic for her loss
as the waves rippled the surface of the water
that we had so recently fished to catch memories
that neither of us would remember
and yet the hat
just waved in the air.

It was perched upon her head when we arrived
as she charged from the car with the other kids
and they all laughed and cheered as she
worked the rusty sounding hand pump
bringing forth the water fresh from spring
water rich in iron
to strengthen the blood of love.

And now ahead of her
is a tunnel that she will travel
encased in the darkness of unknown
with an innocence left behind like her hat
upon the pole near the lake
a hat
that was also green, a vibrant green.

I see upon that pole
a history that has yet to come
of loves lost and found
of life lived and loved
of even tears wiped away as those who love her
watch as she becomes her own person
watching with great emotion as
their little girl becomes a woman
while still flattering upon that cold summer breeze. .

The wind takes the hat away
and I stop my car and rush into the field
the grass is too tall and the wind too strong
and I watch it sail away as if a cloud
or as if the promise of a child
and I cannot catch
Izzy's hat.

Fever broke

The pain from the disease hit Jeff in the chest just before three in the afternoon. It was a sharp pain somewhat near his chest but a bit lower that caused him to gasp and black out for a moment. He fell out of his chair and onto the rough corporate carpet.

 

His supervisor noticed the slumping body and walked over. “Well now! What do we have here? Napping on the job?” None of Jeff's coworkers turned to look; each was intent on their task of dialing their phones looking for someone who had enough money to spend upon the luxury of planning for more money. They were three weeks into a two week temporary assignment. Jeff struggled to open his eyes and bring the supervisor's running shoes into focus. He groaned.

 

“Are you alright?” The supervisor asked. “Should I call someone? An ambulance maybe?” Jeff tried to shake his head no and stand up but the pain was too intense. He grasped at his chair and took quick, panting breaths, his mind desperately trying to rationalize and compartmentalize his pain as he had been doing for weeks but it was no use. The wheels of the chair rolled and Jeff was back on the ground. The supervisor lost his jolly demeanor. “I think an ambulance is in order.”

 

Jeff passed out again and only awoke as the gurney wheeled him by the supervisor's desk. “Yes, an ambulance was called,” his supervisor said, “but it wasn't related to any accident here so it won't be at our expense.” A pause, then “I called the ambulance at 2:51.” Another pause, then “I think he stopped working around 2:45.”

 

The ambulance took Jeff to the closest hospital, a large modern affair run by a religious order as a way for them to have a hand in the grace of God. They pumped Jeff full of chemicals to ease his pain while they examined him and realized that he was going to die. They didn't tell anyone this because they felt it was known that everyone dies except some people cause suffering before they die and some afterwords. Their treatment worked and it allowed Jeff to return to lucid thought when he opened his eyes. There he saw his wife Rebecca who was by his side instead of at work and and he realized that they were totally fucked.

 

Of course they didn't start out that way. Jeff met Rebecca back when they were both in college. There they had studied all aspects of modern life and took classes they thought would give them tools for success. They both had to pay for their education by borrowing money but it was a given that the value of what they were getting would far exceed their debt.

 

At first this was true and upon leaving school they both quickly found work at large companies, work that was intangible due to it's supportive nature yet instrumental in each company's success. They went to work each day and banked savings while paying down their debt.

 

But then the economy crashed. It wasn't something that was brutal but clean and merciful—it was just a case of things disappearing. First it was the perks at the office—no more donuts in the morning or free coffee all day. Then other perks fell—the free insurance and health club membership. Then cheap fuel disappeared and it began to cost real money to pay for the commute to the office.

 

Then the chief executives of the company disappeared and the mood in the office grew dark. And soon after that Jeff's job disappeared. He and Rebecca were able to keep things going for a while. Jeff was able to find something to replace his income but it took more then six months and some of that money they had saved was gone.

 

But they still had a home and were happy and even thinking of starting a family when the executives at Rebecca's job disappeared. She as able to find work quickly but the new company didn't pay as much s what she was doing before, a somewhat demotion she took to make sure she could still pay the bills.

 

Then the stock market crashed and with it went their savings and a little bit more hope. Soon Jeff faced unemployment again as his new company cut back by eliminating those without seniority and he took work as a temporary employee—someone who would and could do anything, just not always well. Rebecca's new job was transitioned into contract status and with it the last shred of insurance—their only option a snake of a plan that would suck their finances dry. So they passed.

 

“Now we face a greater challenge,” Jeff said, his eyes welling up with tears of love for his wife. “But we shall persevere.” Just then the machine behind him emitted a loud beep and his heart stopped and he died.

 

Rebecca woke up from her dream with a fast beating heart and a cold sweat. The darkness washed over her, gave her peace. She could hear Jeff's even breathing, not labored as it was before. They wouldn't have to go to the hospital now because and the fever had broke.

 

Raindrops

There must be a place for me

in between the raindrops

of this summer storm--that's so warm

at least until it stops.

 

There must be a place for me

under the soft gray clouds

no lightning flashers--no thunder crashes

just a hot sun now hidden in shrouds.

 

There must be a place for me

where puddles await my thirsty feet

pools of rain--that bring no pain

but just make this afternoon a treat.

The Rabbi's Dinner

It's always better late then never
so it's par for the night when he gets a moment
to nourish the soul that so many souls depend upon
guarding the vision of g-d seen in the red potatoes
but a meal is a meal
and it's hard work to manage such a siege.

The sauce is so creamy he thinks
surely it must be the milk of a kid
and so I will close my eyes for a minutes
abandon my religion to savor this meal despite penalties
for a deal is a deal
and it's hard work to teach.

Through the doors the horns call the first dance
the remains of his hasty meal shoved aside
and he will then stand and don his black frock
a messiah unnamed ready to preach of a second coming
for what is real is real
and some truth in what bites he eats.

Queen Be

 

I'm a queen bee and I'm only three

so I don't have any problems being free

to pursue my search for summer's flowers

in which I can use to draw my powers

with my wand and my wings I can spread love around

and shun those things that are profound

because I'm a queen bee and I'm only three

and I'm too busy being free.

 

I'm a queen bee and it's fun to be me

each morning a gateway to to a world that's free

of pain and desire and withering glowers

or of the complications of weighted bowers

my energy and passion robustly abound

as I spend my afternoons running around

because I'm a queen bee and I'm only three

and that's the only way for me.

 

I'm a queen bee and I can see

that the twilight makes it harder for me

to play in the grass amidst the flowers

because I didn't care that minutes change into hours

but if I listen carefully I can still hear the sound

of my giddiness in simplicity abound

because I'm a queen bee and I'm only three

and the whole world seems to love me.

Church of the Rez

It was kind of dead here

in that last gasp of darkness before dawn is made apparent

but came a man likened to a church mouse

to unlock the door, to walk across the floor

and flip the switches that woke up the building

once he attired the pile of bricks with appropriate light

he drew upon his vestments

thickly white and starched to hide his tail

and stood at the head of the staircase

to watch the reawakening.

 

And that’s how we found him

at the top of a steep staircase

urging us on to the glory of a world steeped in faith

below we conspire

to burn the incense and light the candles this time in a way better then perfect

using smoke and light to breathe fire into the belly

staining the bricks brown with the soot of our sins

before we leave them in the basement

with our other inconvenient prejudices.

 

But when we crack open the recycled manuals

there are stories to be sung into life

at this church of resurrection.

Shooting hoops on Wall Street

I generally don't like sports news and I really don't like watching basketball that much so I was a little surprised this morning when I learned that the NBA was currently on lockout status and in danger of canceling the season. Already a host of preseason games have been canceled and negotiations look grim.

It's kind of hard for me to feel sorry about the two sides. After all, on one side we have the owners, a group of pretty wealthy people, and on the other, a bunch of players who are on the verge of being wealthy trying to get more. There's too much money involved for them to be at odds for long so they'll work it out.

It all seems simple enough—but who are the victims?

If you've ever gone to a major league sporting event then you're aware of the scope of the crowds. But not all of them are there to be entertained—there's a lot of people there who are working. You ca easily see most of them—ushers, food service workers, custodians, parking lot attendants. When a game is canceled, they're out of work. No negotiations, no say in the manner—they just have to wait until the principals come to terms.

So they wait—and not get paid. Someone who was counting in work that day couldn't buy the TV or laptop they had their eye on. Or maybe it means they're going to be late on the rent that month. Or maybe miss a child support payment.

Thanks, guys.