ALL ABOUT DRIVERS

There are drivers and then there are drivers who think they can drive. This group jump into their cars, start their engines and proceed to abandon any sense of logic, compassion or courtesy. Road rage is ever at the ready. Below,  I list a few examples of drivers who abuse the road rules of common sense.

THE CELL PHONE OPERATOR

The cell phone operator cannot bear to be away from his phone even for a minute. He will leave his home at 8 a.m. and will be back at the phone the moment he is seated in his car, five minutes later. He sits with the apparatus within easy reach. In a moment he is at it again and the device is fastened to his ear. He may or may not be speaking to someone but hey, this would-be executive is in his element.
He, she never thinks of pulling over to reveal big business deals or to fake it.
For more attention. this worthy will walk the streets and talk just loud enough for all and sundry to hear every profound word. No secrets, he wants you to pay attention. Beware of this marathon talker, he is an accident waiting to happen.

THE TAIL GATE DRIVER

The tail-gate driver is a frustrated race car driver who just loves to drive inches from the back of you car. This man needs company, to be close, ever so close.

Unmindful of rain, snow or sleet, this dummy believes he can stop on a dime. Safe driving distances are for people who cannot drive he tells his drinking buddies. He reads no manuals or directions of any kind and boasts about it. Drives sane drivers insane.

THE DECORATOR

Stickers are plastered all over his back window telling all and sundry that this driver is a traveling man, hitting all the amusement and scenic parks, whoopee! Further releases include, “I love my wife,”
“Proud parent of an honor student,” (Goody, goody gum drop, I can sleep now). You are assured that Jesus loves you as well. This is a man with a mission designed to capture your attention. Frankly, I don’t care if Jesus loves me, that he loves his wife, that he has an honor student aboard, or whether he has been to any kind of park.

THE MUSIC PLAYER

This music player loves his music loud, very loud, and wants everybody to share his masterpieces, his rap and rock special. He makes sure the volume can go no higher or his driving side window can go no lower. He serenades all and sundry any time of day or night. He wants you to know that the music is an extension of himself. In a few years he may be as deaf as a door mat.

THE LITTER BUG

A master at littering, this garbage disposal expert targets the road or sidewalk with every loose object in his car without guilt. Probably uses the floors of his house in the same way. If he smokes, and this type generally does, he will likely throw his lighted cigarette butt out the window without a thought of where it may land. Environment? What is that he asks?

THE WEAVER

This is a man with a mission. He is going places even if it means taking you with him. One lane is never enough for this jockey. He pays taxes for all the lanes and he uses them all by weaving from lane to lane leaving a trail of near heart attacks as he cuts and slashes his merry way. He may even arrive at his destination all of five minutes ahead of the slowest driver, but victory is his.

THE LIGHT RUSHER

Never learns to play the lights or traffic. He can be seen rushing up to an obvious red light at full speed, relying on his overworked brakes to stop his imbecilic rush. He will always take a yellow light without a second glance to right or left. He lives a charmed life. This so-called driver plays the same charade with the green lights --- Ah, he thinks, I’ll catch that bugger before it changes, only to find himself waiting at a red light, twiddling his thumbs.

THE TOOTER

The horn blower is a frustrated musician and will toot his horn day and night. A man on the go, this gem likes to blow cars away from the lane he professes to own. If you are not exceeding the speed limit you are just to damn slow for this moron. This nutcase has horn, will travel.

ROAD RAGE

Road is all the rage by too many would-be drivers. They have a complete vocabulary of four and five letter words at what they imagine is the slightest provocation. Going too slow out of a driveway or parking spot starts this motor mouth, mouthing off. Backing into a parking spot too slowly is a massive no no. Never stops swearing.
These drivers should keep their mouths shut for a change.

THE JERKER

The jerker cannot make up his mind. Driving with him is akin to riding a bronco. His foot constantly drifts from brake to gas and back again. Amazingly, this rodeo driver believes he is one of the few good drivers. This ‘good’ driver will see cars slowing up ahead and rush to join them and find he has to come to a screeching halt. He cannot stand being lonely.

ANIMALS UNITED

The signs were placed on everytree,
in a language only animals could see.

NOTICE
Most of you can read animalish.
Even birds,reptiles and all manner of fish.

Since most of you are mostly,
listen to the following closely.
We all want to live to a ripe old age,
not to die or be put in a cage/

So,
We've got to plan to unite as one,
to stop all hunters from having fun.

Put on your thinking caps and
think with your mind.
Then make a selection,
two of a kind.
The ones you choose
should know your views
and those should gather
in ones and twos.

So, prepare to meet in
Animalville
Five weeks from now and
that's for real.

Signed,
Yours animal truly,
the animal committee
fighting for freedom
for every one in the
animal kingdom.

They gathered in ones, twos and threes,
to read the signs in
Animalese.

The day before the appointed day,
in the middle of the month of May,
they started to come in every way.
In every which way,
through the night and day,
they began to assemble
to have their say.

They came by boat,
they came by raft,
and as they came,
they joked and laughed.
They came from near
and came from far,
they came by scooter
and they came by car.
They came by plane,
they came by train.
Some were wild,
others were tame.

Some hitch-hiked,
some walked slowly.
Some came from the highest,
some came from the lowly.
Some had on clothes.
Some chose not to.
In the animal world,
they don't really got to.

The low and the high, the slim and the fat, all of them going to have a chat.

When they were all there,
the leader rose and spoke,
"I'm just a little frog
and can only croak,
so everybody move closer to me,
after all, we are family,
that is plain to see
Now who will be the the first to speak,
just take your time ,
we've got all
week".

The birds of Paradise
from distant Ausralia,
stepped forward proudly,
in all their regalia.

"Frog chair amphibian
and assorted creatures,
you must know our feathers
are our main features.
Over all these years,
we've been hunted and slain,
our feathers are plucked,
for people too vain.
The feathers we wear,
are strictly our own,
and were never intended,
to go out on loan".

The fur-bearing animals rose to their feet.
"Our fur is our coat, on us it looks
neat.
The humans who wear us cannot compete.
We's rather be alive,
instead of dead and bare,
it's a case of murder.
Why don't they care?"

The elephants raised their trunks
and trumpeted mildly.
"When our tusks are stolen,
we become quite wildly.
We know our ivory
is very valuable,
but killing us is not
very allowable."

The cute baby seals slithered up
to be heard.
"While we're still living,
we're being de-furred.
Our parents look on,
helpless and crying,
while we poor pups
are slowly dying."

The gorillas stood up and beat their
chests;
"If we had our way, we'd make some
arrests.
We"d put lots of humans
in our people's zoos,
and feed them bananas
or whatever we choose.
Those who were left,
would be made to perform
tricks in a circus in
animal uniforms."

The assorted birds
began cheep cheeping;
"Those cute little cages
are not for our keeping.
We were given wings
in order to fly,
but in those boxes
our wings will die.
We must be free,
free as birds,
and not fall prey
to human nerds."

"Well said, well said,"
roared the King of the lions.
"Our gathereing here,
is a sign of the times.
Action is needed,
in these times of stress.
To ensure our safety,
we have got to protest."

Action , action, action,"
chanted the assembly,
until the very earth
was all a'trembly.

"I've got an idea,"
hissed the rattlesnake,
as he did a convulsive shake.
"We'll print up posters,
voicing our position,
it could very well be,
a sort of petition.

"Yak, Yak,"
yaked the Yak.
"We'll carry our posters,
from coast to coasters."

They worked steadily thru the night,
and made dandy signs that were a deliight.
The signs were clever, animals
are not dumb,
and the posters were read, in a
kind of a hum.

Clean up the zoos
and the pet stores.
You can get to see us
in the great outdoors.

If humans must make war,
against their own kind,
please don't include us,
just pay us no mind.

Hunters throw away your guns.
Use a camera instead.
We'd rather be on film,
than forever dead.

Sealers use their clubs
to kill baby seals.
Is that a human way,
to earn their meals?

No more tortures on your lab
tables.
The need to test us are mostly
fables.

I'm a cute Koala, that's plain to
see.
Don't shoot me down from my favorite
tree.

Stop the trapping
it's much too painful.
We animals think
it's downright sinful.

Fur looks better on us
then it does on you.
Don't take our fur away
and our lives too.

Snakes like their skin to remain on their backs.
Don't make them into belts or purses,
stick to the facts.

Fish have feelings,
just like all of you.
Don't put us in fish tanks,
unless you go too.

When they were through reading,
they lined up in twos
and the frog leader said,
"Let's show them our views.
We'll go through the cities,
we'll go through the towns.
We'll tell the world,
we're out of bounds."

They marched like an army,
they were all of one mind.
To change the humans,
and make them more kind.

In the procession,
marched all kinds of creatures,
showing the humans,
their different features.

The Birds of Paradise.
with plumage so regal,
and dogs and cats,
and a bald-headed eagle.
Echidnas and porcupines,
showing their spines,
and lynx and leopards,
and tigers and lions.

There were snakes that slithered,
and some that were sliding.
While still others on horseback,
were seen to be riding.
And Bluebok and Reindeer,
and Moose and Caribou,
showing off their antlers,
as were Lou, the big Gnu.
The storks and the emu birds,
with heads held high,
on necks so long,
they could say, "Bye, bye."

And a host of others,
too many to mention,
but all of them getting,
plenty of attention.

They went through parks.
They marched on roads,
all jabbering away,
in strange animal codes.

They entered villages,
went up and down mountains.
When they were thirsty,
they stopped at fountains.

And all the while the people were smiling,
It was partly laughing and partly
crying.
They began to see how cruel they had been,
how thoughtless, uncaring and downright
mean.

Yes, they made promises,
they thought they would keep,
not to torture animals,
or to make them weep.
To let animals live peacefully,
in their natural homes.

ANIMALS DON'T LKE CAGES

This all happened 35 years ago, maybe it was 1960
My six year old daughter had never been to a zoo and I had promised to take her to the one in Oakland. I keep my promises, or at least most of them.

We were in a festive mood as we started out. The Sunday sun was warm, the winds were light, and there was no traffic or bottlenecks on the freeway.

At the entrance, I paid $1.50 for parking and got a stub reading, “East Bay Zoological Society – Knowland Park.” We drove through a spacious park area studded with trees. Birds were singing. We sang right along with them.

The first animals we saw were Gibbons. They were going through their acrobatic paces in a large, round, wire-meshed enclosure, devoid of trees. The floor of this cage was cement, (unbelieveable). Furry paws were stretched out through the openings of the fence in efforts to catch the peanuts being offered.

My daughter turned to me and asked, “Daddy, are monkeys criminals.” “Of course not,” I replied with a smile.
“Then how come they put them in jail?” she countered.

That floored me. I hesitated, searching for the right words. There were no right words I realized suddenly. These animals had been free and now they were not, it was as simple as all that.

“Darling,” I finally said weakly, “They are brought here, along with all the other animals we are going to see, so people, humans like ourselves, can see them close up and to learn about them, to enjoy them.” I hated myself. I could see she was as dissatisfied with my answer as I was. We looked at each other. I felt guilty.

My guilt began to wash away as we boarded the miniature scenic railway and I was able to bask in the sunshine of my daughter’s smile. We laughed with pleasure on the ‘Sky Ferry’ advertised as, “An exciting panoramic view of the zoo.” It was delightful.
The ‘Carousel’ followed. We were having a ball. I began to think that all was right with the world. The feeling did not last.

When we came down to earth we saw three Dromedary camels from Central Asia. They stood disconsolately in a dirty shallow pond at the edge of their compound. Two sorry looking palm trees stood at attention in the center of the enclosure. We stopped smiling.

We saw a mixture of crime-free prisoners in a large, drab looking compound. There were vultures, cranes, gazelles, giraffes, kudus and elands. These creatures were miles away from their true homes in India, South America, and Africa. They stood unmoving. “They look sad,” Audrey said.

Was that a lion and his mate in their pen?
They may have been Kings at one time but looked anything but royal now. They sat, backs to their audience, silent, uncaring --- they had given up hope, dethroned forever.

Two huge alligators lay in a shallow pond about the size of a miniature fish tank. They were not going anywhere.

Chimpanzees, in a small, wire cage stared at us with lusterless eyes empty of all emotion.
A Pied Hornbill flew a distance of four feet from one perch to another in its constricted cage. Back and forth it flew, again and again.

We saw Sun Bears from Southeast Asia and Indonesia. “Smallest member of the bear family,” the legend read. They paced up and down on a cement floor. No forest leafy floor here, no trees, no relatives, no frolicking, and no foraging.

A pair of giant elephants were penned in an enclsure not much bigger than a prison cell. The life span of these pachyderms could be as high as sixty or seventy years. These noble creatures, these intelligent creatures, were in for a long life sentence.

“Where are the baby animals?” Audrey asked suddenly. We were not long in discovering that the zoo officials, in all their wisdom, had created a separate section for them, away from parents and the warmth and security they could offer them. “Shouldn’t they be with their moms and dads?” she persisted. “Yes they should,” I said with a sigh.
It was too much. We left. The day had turned gray.

As we drove home, I recited a little poem I made up on the spot.

Let animals live
Let animals roam
Let them live peacefully
In their natural home

Audrey clapped her hands. “Thank you,” I said.

When we are not killing them, skinning them and eating them. We put them in cages and just love them to death.

ANT ANTICS

My name is Pierre,,
some call me Handsome
I'm a run away ant,
who lives in a transom.

Now why would I,
unlike the others,
who are my sisters,
and my brothers,
live in a cranny,
over a door,
and not think of it
as being a bore?

You see my kinfolk,
live underground,
throughout all the seasons,
like all year round.

And living and working,
in an eerie blackout,
made it kind of hard,
to really move or shout.

I remember the rooms
in our apartment,
much, much smaller,
than a toy compartment.

Yes, we were busy,
coming and going,
picking the seeds,
we'd forever keep storing,
in special bins,
some six feet under,
away from the rain,
lightning and thunder.

But I wanted a world,
that shed more light,
so I found a transome,
that gave me that sight.

Instead of six feet down,
I nested six feet high,
and was so much closer,
to a blue-lit sky.

and I'll tell you true,
and I'll tell you boldly,
when you're close to the sun,
you're not as coldly.

Living over a door,
gives me a view,
of people called humans,
and of what they do.

I can go and come,
whenever I please,
with nobody around,
to give me a tease.

I'm as free as a bird,
as happy as a bee,
it's certainly wonderful,
just to be me.

Food there's enough of,
it's here and there.
The floor is my cupboard,
It's just never bare.

Hold on a moment,
I've got a guest,
i think it's a spider,
come here to rest.

Hello said the spider,
a gleam in his eye,
not even waiting
for my reply,
but started right in,
a large web to spin,
from a supply of thread,
that lay within.

Right next to me,
without using a measure,
that spider wove,
an architectural treasure.

It was perfect,
in every conceivable way,
and seemed strong enough,
to last all the given day.

I thought I should enter,
like a friendly neighbor,
say hello and all that,
and commend his labor.

I was just about
to knock on the door,
prior to stepping
onto the silken floor.
But then I remembered
mother saying to me,
"If it's somebody new
you are going to see,
bring a little itsy gift,
to give a kind of a lift."
Those were her very words,
so cleverly spoken.

As I turned to go,
to the corner store,
something happened,
to stop that chore.

Luck smiled upon me,
cause along came a fly,
who flew into the web,
to give it a try.

The fly's exploration,
was the shortest ever.
It seems that flight,
should have been never.

The web was a trap.
The fly could not fly.
It soon gave up,
and prepared to die.

The spider crept out,
not much in a hurry,
and watched the fly,
give one last flurry.

When all was still,
the spider pounced,
and looking at me,
solemnly announced,
"All who would enter
my silky room,
will simply travel
to their doom.

"I'm a living creature,
and need food to survive,
he who comes in,
won't go out alive".

I reckoned the spider
was talking to me,
so I said,
"Dear spider,
you'll never get me.
That fly saved my life,
for sure and for real,
if not for it,
I'd have been your meal".

I decided my home,
was a little too busy
and that the height,
made me too dizzy.

I packed no bag,
I liked traveling light,
and before you could say spider,
I scrambled out of sight.

Did you ever see,
an ant that was slow,
and not ready,
to just go, go, go.
I'm sure you haven't,
because slow is a no, no.
We've got six strong legs,
and they're just not for show.

Hope you're still with me,
'Cause there's more to see.

I went over a fence,
and over a track,
around a tree
that had a crack
I crossed a road,
and horns were blaring.
My life seemed charmed,
because i kept on faring.

I climbed onto a shoe,
and up a deep forest,
but it was hair on a leg,
of a man called Horace.
His hand reached down,
to where I was climbing,
but I avoided his paw,
in the nick of timing.

i got out of there,
in mighty quick time,
or
I'd of been squashed,
like a lemon or a lime.

I went on my way,
more careful, less daring,
but soon found out,
I'd lost my bearing.

I knew not if,
I was coming or going,
and the winds started up,
whistling and blowing.

I was tossed about,
like a ship on an ocean.
There was no way,
I cold stop its motion.
The wind picked me up,
and threw me away,
I really didn't know,
if it was night or day.

I was tossed under some stones,
and I began to say,
if I ever got home,
I would never stray.

I must of been tired,
'cause I fell asleep,
and began a dream.
that was six feet deep.

i dreamed of my first home,
ao friendly and cosy,
and my foolishness in leaving,
because I was so nosy.

I dreamed of spiders,
I dreamed of flies,
I dreamed of breaking ,
my family ties.

Those ties that I'd broken,
'cause i thought there was better.
Could I in my dream,
send a wire or a good letter?

I could and I would,
so I took pen in hand,
snd started to write home,
to that place in the sand.

"Dear brothers and sisters,
dear mom and dad,,
dear uncle and auntie,
I'm ever so sad.
I'm smack in the middle,
of an alarming dream,
but all I really want,
is to be back on the team.

I miss all of you,
and grandpa and grannie,
and if I ever get home,
I won't sit on my fanny.
I'll sure pull my weight,
and I'll do my share,
and be happy to be home,
and in your care.

I'll do my lessons,
I'll take my shower,
I'll help with tunneling,
deep in our bower.

Excuse me folks,
I'll stop for a while.
It's my snoring time.
I'll just snore for a mile.

When I wake up,
and still find I'm lost,
I'll mail this letter,
no matter its cost.
And then I'll send up,
a smoke signal or two,
and hope you can come,
to my poor rescue.

When I awoke with a start,
dawn was just breaking,
and I really got busy,
a fire to be making..
I started that fire,
and made a blanket of leaves,
and the smoke signal said,
"Come quick, if you please,
it's Pierre, the wayward ant.
just follow the smoke,
I am very serious,
this is no silly joke.

I'm lost and I'm weary,'
I want to go home,
so please do listen,
to my sad little poem."

To make doubly sure,
I put on ant postage,
on my dream letter,
the one I held hostage..

I mailed it special delivery,
and sat back and waited.
I knew I'd be rescued,
I mean, was it not fated?

I was a little hungry,
so I ate a few seeds
and I combed my hair,,
and put on my beads.

I was ready to return,
to that underground condo,
and move in to my room,
with Minnie and Mondo,
and Charlie, and Sam,
and Jerry and Lizzie,
and Susan and Pam,
and Lois and Dizzy.

There are thousands of others,
just to many to name,
but all built like me,
like really the same.

I didn't wait long,
for unknown to me,
I was twelve feet away,
from our family tree.

And soon they came,,
in a long single file,
that twelve feet,
seemed like a mile.

We embraced and kissed,
as I smiled all the while,
as we inched our way back,
along that happy "mile".

I have no more wish,
to roam or to wander,
I now know my home
is really six feet under.

A DAY WITH AARON

Michael and Phyllis came to see me as a last resort
when their daytime baby-sitter quit without giving notice.
"Oscar, we're desperate," Michael said.
"We know how much you love Aaron ," Phyllis added eagerly."
" It's only for eight hours," they said in unison.
"What are good friends for," I said, kicking myself under the kitchen table.

We passed smiles all around, very much like dealing cards. I forced a kind of a smile. Phyllis sat down and wrote out a list a mile long, detailing every move I had to take in caring for their one and only.
I kicked myself under the table once more, only harder this time.

I felt weak at the knees the following morning as I climbed the stairs leading to the spacious house on Oceanview Ave.

For the next eight hours I would be, for the first time in my 35 year old history, in sole charge of a living human being who happened to be a bouncing 25 pound baby boy, some 9 months old.

Aaron was not exactly new to me. I'd played with him, held him, even changed his diaper gingerly, under supervision ... once.

Michael had already left for the day. Phyllis hastily downed a cup of coffee and was off after rehashing, in abbreviated form, the written instructions of the night before.

I was alone with twenty-five pounds of trusting baby in my arms.
Aaron knew that adults existed for the sole purpose of entertaining and caring for him. I faced the day with new resolve, determined I would not take a back seat to women on the home front.

Aaron snuggled into me, his body a dead weight in my arms. I staggered through the house. He became heavier when his head began pointing to the floor. "Straighten up me boy, you're killing me," I implored. Aaron ignored me.

Aaron continued his inspection, his gaze never faltering. "But what do you see down there?" I asked. "Glug, glug." he said,
and gave me one of his Mona Lisa smiles. This guy is a reverse periscope, scanning the ocean floor, I muttered as I went through the house, pointing out various things of interest on the walls, shelves and floor areas.

Before my arms completely gave out I managed to place hm in his low-chair while I prepared his formula for the day. I followed instructions to the letter. Aaron's mouth began to drool, his Pavlonian instincts now fully aroused. I stuck a bread stick in his mouth and completed my preparations with a bow and a flourish.
Aaron clapped his hands, ever ready for nourishment.

He lay in the crook of my arms as I sat on the living room sofa. Powerful jaw muscles tore at the nipple with a frenzy. The contents went down to zero in a matter of seconds, or so it seemed. "What a piggy you are," I said smilingly. He replied with a spendid burp. I was jealous. Babes could burp and be congratulated for it, while only censorious looks awaited the adult who tried it in company.

I stood up, eased him over my shoulder, and patted his back once more to ferret out burps that may be lying in wait; none followed, he seemed satisfied with his first explosion.

While strolling through the house I noticed his nine month old eyes sort of glazing over. His face gew very still, his cheeks reddened, and he grunted several times. It was a red alert. A poo poo platter was on the way. I galloped into his room in the rear of the house, laid him down on the dresser top change area, and prepared to hold my breath for the duration. It was a crucial test, one that would separate the men from the boys.

Aaron giggled. He'd made his deposit and now it was fun time. As I gingerly removed his diaper, he moved suddenly and managed to spread the good news all around.

"The water, where's the water," I was babbling by now. My eyes roamed the small room feverishly. Ah, there it is," I cried. It was right in front of me. Holding my ward with one hand, I unscrewed the oversized thermos with the other, no easy task.

"My gawd it's empty," I gasped. Aaron said, "Wah, bah," his eyes full of smiles.

My armpits were now awash with perspiration. "What to do, what to do?" I cried out loud. Aaron caught the look on my face, thought it was funny and howled with laughter. I was his comic for the day -- his court jester.

I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances. I wrapped him in a half dozen diapers and carried him at arm's length to the bathroom. In the tub I soaped and rinsed all of his chubby folds and crevices. "Kaka has gone with the wind," I said triumphantly.

He answered with mighty splashes and succeeded in drenching me from head to toe. He stopped to throw me one of his enigmatic stares and waited for me to react. I yelled on cue. This of course brought on more splashing. I wrapped him in towels and carried him towards his room, stepping only long enough to give Aaron the chance to look into the hall mirror, a never ending treat for our narcissist. He was fascinated by his likeness. "Woo," he said, as he smiled toothlessly at the mirror.

i tap-danced into his room "Fred Astaire beware," I puffed. Aaron's laugh was loud and spontaneous. It was music to my ears. For such an appreciative audience I could dance on. I did.

I put a happy boy in his carriage while I cleaned the rest of the mess. As I worked, I grew more appreciative of mothers the world over. Their love seemed to be able to conquor all, give them extraordinary strength and stamina.

I began dressing him on the dresser top. "Ah let's see, you'll need an undershirt and something to go over it." As I spoke, I crouched, my left arm restraining the bouncer, while my right groped desperately for the required items in the drawers to the right of the 'operating' center. My arms were just not long enough. I was gaining more respect for mothers by the minute.

I tried another tack. I balanced him on my knees while searcing for the items. My knees weren't doing too well. I managed to capture all the necessary clothes before they gave out completely.

Dressing him was akin to dressing a mobile pretzel -- his body moved simultaneously in all directons, an impossible feat. Just how do women do it, I mused. We men are so much stronger, aren't we?

My arms were slowly being pulled from their sockets.
"You're a very strong young man," I panted. As if to demonstrate this, he playfully reached for my mouth and practically tore my lip off.

I applied a half dozen face tissues to the wound. "Ha, ha," I laughed. "It's nothing, just a little dip in my lip." I threw him a warm look to show I bore him no ill will.

The battle was finally over. I won in three falls. The mauler of Oakland was dressed, snug in his carriage, and noisily sucking away on his pacifier as we strolled down College Avenue.

Aaron considered the carriage as his personal conveyance. In it, he was kingpin, a grand surveyer of the outdoor scene. His head seemed to be mounted on ball bearings, demonstrated by the easy way he turned hither and yon.

Women stared at Aaron and then at me. Their eyes and lips smiled. What was the message? It was obvous. Babies, especially chubby ones, healthy and good-looking to boot, serve as catylists in bringing out motherhood instincts. The baby pusher, the baby, and the carriage, are all safe, accepted symbols of life and the perpetuation of the species. Most men do not participate in this ritual, the majority not having the experience of giving birth.

Older women, veterans of the baby world, did more than smile. Their experience gave them license to exercise fuller liberties.
They stopped the carriage and began one-sided conversations. "Kootcy-kootchy-koo they simpered. This was territory they were familiar with and they were determined to elicit some response from the bewildered victim lying prisoner in his carriage. They tried clucking, they tried pinching his cheeks, they tried blowing on his face and they even tried talking real English. Aaron was not having any of this and turned his face away.

Competing baby pushers plied me with questions. I was ready.

"How old is he?" they asked. "Three months old," I lied without blinking an eyelash. "My gawd." they gasped as their mouths flew open. I shrugged modestly.
"He's very big for his age," they gulped.
I bore down. "It's the weightlifting," I explained, before moving on. I left a group of bewildered mothers talking among themselves.

As we were about to pass a bakery shop on College Ave., my charge pointed again and again. Was this a regular stop for our growing boy? I soon found out that it was. We were greeted warmly by the owner who told me that this was his baguette stop five day's weekly. We shared a fresh, hot, crusty baguette, smacking our lips in unison.

Bolstered by this satisfing interlude, we marched to a park some ten minutes away. By the time we came to it, Aaron and I were palsy, walsy. I talked, he listened, giving up the floor without hesitation.

"Look at all that green grass growing so quietly, and smelling so sweetly," I said. i inhaled deeply and louldy. He saw the game at once and followed my lead, drawing in little gulps of air -- a born mimic.

There were a grove of tall trees ahead. "See those stately trees, those venerable plants, growing ever so fat and sentinal tall, pleasure your eyes on their beauty, let your hands caress the skin of these healthy specimens." The words flew by him, but the even softness of the delivery soothed him. He eyed me approvingly.

I steered the carriage close to one of the biggest trees, stroked the bark, and waited for Aaron's reaction. He decided not to rush things. Tentative exploration with eyes fastened on the section of the tree immediately before him. His eyes then climbed the plant expertly, before a probing finger gently touched the tree to test its temperature, texture and relative safety.

Satisfied no enemy lurked there, both his hands shot out and began stroking the tree while looking at me slyly, watching for my reaction or approval. I smiled, thus assured, he began a gentle tapping. The tree was a friend, a plaything. He finally sat back triumphantly, while I applauded. He followed suit and soon we were both applauding each other. "You have gladdened this aged beauty with your youth and gentle attentions," I said with a wink and a smile. "Onward, ever onward my stalwart," I commanded.

Two nuns came toward us from the Chabot Ave. entrance to the park. I leaned down to whisper, "They will smile benignly when they come abreast of us. People in the religion business take courses in politeness and benign smiles".

As the sisters hove to, Aaron put on his Mona Lisa smile. They were enchanted. Their eyes danced religiously and they smiled benignly. I smiled back as benignly as I could, not having had real practice in the art.

We began our Chabot Avenue ascent. Many streets and avenues in the "Bay" area will simply not lay flat for very long. They start to rise at the first opportunity. Chabot was no exception. It rose ever upward.

We passed gardens featuring sculptured evergreens that reminded me of French poodles -- ghastly. I lean toward trees that grow with untamed abandon. Homes became more elaborate, more expensive looking, the higher we climbed. It seems the rich like to take to higher ground in case of floods.

We headed for the Chabot Canyon Racquet Club, the very one that Aaron's mother was a member of. "This is terrific exercise." I gasped, as we climbed the steepest section of the avenue. There was no answer. Our hero's eyes were shut tight, his face in repose. "You are beautiful," I whispered.

That last stretch seemed harder than ever. I had no more gasps
to spare when I finally reached the tennis courts. Aaron slept on, completely unaware of any tennis activity going on. I longed to join them. Only three things held me back. I was not a member, I was not dressed for tennis, and I could not leave my charge unattended. The sun was not overly strong, gentled by cool breezes -- perfect tennis weather.

We started our return journey. Half way home our hero moved, his body going through a slow, deliberate stretch. This was followed by frantic arm waving. Sounds were added to his repertoire of movement ... small mewing sounds, growing more and more distinct. I accelerated into third gear and then into fourth.

His mewing grew into full-growing cries. I stopped the carriage and kneeled before him. "Aaron my pet, Aaron my precious," I pleaded, "Please indulge me, at least until we reach home.
He only cried harder. I stroked his chest. His arms shot out and I was trapped. Who could resist this supplication, this trust. Once in my arms, all was quiet on the western front. It was as if a door had suddenly been closed on a noisy party.

I carried him with my right arm and pushed the carriage with my left. Back and forth went Aaron, from one arm to another. My arms were turning to lead. My face must have mirrored my agony. Men and women were casting sympathetic looks my way. Great drops of perspiration ran down my face. I was a mess.

"Aaron, you are a very heavy guy," I moaned as i staggered on. His body danced in my arms as if in response. "Not the best response old boy," I muttered.

i tried putting him back in the carriage. He was not up to leaving the comfort zone. My burden was mine to carry. After much groaning, gasping, and gritting of teeth, I arrived at the corner of College and Oceanview -- almost home but not quite. Oceanview did not offer a view of the ocean. It did offer a view of a hill going straight up. There was a little over half a block to traverse. Could I make it?

I slowly, laboriously, climbed the 'view' ... not my view of a refreshing climb. The house had stairs, too many. Aaron took my theatrical grunts and groans as attempts at clowning, and possibly they were. My fan roared with laughter. It was contagious. We fell in a heap on the soft living room floor and laughed our guts out.

The wonderful thing about pain and discomfort are the rewards that follow their cessation. My body floated as we lay rocking with laughter that knew no ending. We squeezed the last drop of laughter out of our bodies and were off to the kitchen and feeding time after a quick stop in the 'change' room for some dry clothes.

He ate with obvious delight, his mouth opening in Pavlovian response every time the spoon neared it. In quick order he downed a banana, cereal, half a tomato, some cottage cheese, and a bread stick. A gourmond was our Aaron, and I was delivering gourmet baby-sitting. I gave myself a ten. I cleaned him up with a paper towel. "Pat, pat, pat and that's that," said the towel.

Was it laughter time again? Why not. I moved my shoulders and made google eyes at him. It was enough. He exploded.
No half measures. I worked my shoulders until they were sore, his laughter, incentive enough.

It was time for his dessert --his bottle of course. He attacked it with a vengenace as I cradled him. What a feeling -- this little tyke depended on me -- gaining sustenance, warmth and safety in the nest of my arms. My heart turned over.

He purred as he drank -- his legs and toes moving ecstatically as he clutched the bottle securely in his arms. he was in heaven and I was his current angel.

Into his room for a diaper change. He was soaked. I know some mothers leave their children marinating in their diapers before bothering to change them. Not so this 'mother'.

I laid him gently on his change table but Aaron was not having
any of that. I want to be held, his lusty cries seemed to be saying. A possible tenor or baritone, I mused. I couldn't help but admire his face for a second or two as it contorted so piteousloy, so beautifullly, before I took action.

Three toys later, his tears stopped magically and he gave me a wide, toothless smile -- not one cavity. I deftly threw his heavy wet diaper into the disposal bucket, laved him with a soft washcloth, patted him dry, and applied cream around his buttocks and into his many folds. Aaron cooed all through this.
In a few minutes he was clean, dry, warm and fully dressed for indoor fun and games. I was learning fast.

His playpen was large and roomy. I surrounded him with cushions and toys and sat down with the morning paper to read and rest.

I was just beginning to enoy my favorite columnist when our 'playboy' keeled over in the playpen. Although not yet into the crawling stage, he somehow managed to move about in the most imaginitive way -- back flips, forward half somersaults, and sly side movements. A repertoire all his own.

Finally, he managed to lay there immobilized, very much like a turtle on his back. He did not panic, simply waited for me to right him. I left my seat and my favorite writer and set him up again.

This happened several times in the next few minutes. I tried lying him on his tummy. He didn't care for that. I introduced more toys. He through them out. He was having fun at my expense. My break was broken.

I placed him on his 'Jolly Jumper' and he began energetically jumping up and down and somehow, sideways. I hurriedly checked the calipers fastened to the frame of the door and was assured of his security.

There he was, my plump captive, harnessed, hanging partially in space, the springs of the apparatus allowing him to touch the floor and every part of his face was alive with smiles. Little shouts of pure joy escaped him. He seemed tireless -- a dynamo on springs.

I rolled one of his balls to him. "Kick it," I shouted. He kicked it the length of the room. More kicks, more shouts, more delicious smiles followed. He was prepared to play the game all day but I wasn't. He had more energy than I had. I hugged him, he hugged back. He smelled as fresh as a baby, it was a good smell.

I needed a rest. I released him and we both lay down on a blanket I placed on the floor. He managed, in his peculiar crab-like way. to reach my face. He sat down on it.

"One last bit of play before puttng you bed," I spluttered. I began pedaling my legs in a fast circular motion while laying on my back. He howled as I pedaled faster. He howled louder. He was enjoying it so much that I didn't have the heart to stop. I gave him a full ten minutes of this, collecting and savoring all of his laughter.

It was time for his afternoon nap. I consulted my notes. There were no directions on how to put the little guy to bed. I was on my own. I was determined to innovate because I needed my rest desperately.

I placed him in his crib, gave him a pacifier, and spoke ever so softly to him. My deep baritone voice caressed his ears. His eyes started to flutter and he half rose before falling back and was asleep within seconds.

I had three hours to myself, but from time to time I tip-toed into is room to watch him sleep. Is there anything more angelic, more beautiful, than a sleeping baby? They sleep very much like they play -- all out.

He was immediatelly awake the moment he arose and shouted for attention. I found hm holding on to the side of his bed, fully alert and ready for action. His eyes lit up when he saw my oustretched arms.

Another walk was called for, but first a diaper change. I was able to do this without fuss or bother and we were out and away in minutes.

More smiles from mothers and would-be-mothers. Aaron was the light that drew them in like moths. i was simply an appendage. Nevertheless, I basked in his popularity.

Twice I was mistaken for his father. I hesitated before conceding that I was not. It was a compliment, considering the extreme handsomeness of my charge.

We came abreast of an icecream emporiom. The sign boasted, "the best vanilla in the bay area". "One vanilla in a container please", I ordered. "Aaron and I want to vote on it". I added with a smile. The clerk didn't crack a smile. "She doesn't get it", I said, turning to Aaron.

Mmm, Mmm,Mmm, and Mmm," I rhapsodied as the cold delicacy paraded over my tongue and onto my palate. It was no doubt, a very, very exciting concoction. "My partner and I are ice cream tasting specialists," I declared, turning to our host. There was a beginning of a smile. The smile broadened when I added, "He's really on the wagon but I think he might go off just this once".

Aaron's face turned somersaults as the dessert found his taste buds. He made a grab for the spoon. I was faster. "Just one moment my fine feathered friend, remember you're on the wagon," I cautioned. I hastily spooned in more of the dessert. We took turns finishing it off.

We walked on to the "Adventure Center, a travel agency specializing in trips to Australia and New zealand. there were stuffed Kaola bears and boomerangs in the window.
Aaron was intrigued. He pointed and spoke his secret language.
"Did you know, you could leave Oakland one day and arrive there yesterday or is it the other way around?" Aaron shrugged, no traveler he. We paraded up and down College Street. It was retail land. Stores predominated. Restaurants and bars there were a'plenty. Americans are the snackiest snackers, their mouths well exercized around anything that smelled good.

There were at least four antique furniture stores selling furniture of the twenties, thirties and forties, at inflated prices. Maybe that is why there did not seem to be any customers shelling out dollars.

A massage parlor and hot tub combo advertised in vain. Not a soul could be seen inside. Beauty factories and hair clipping shops used other people's heads to make money. A half a dozen stores specialized in remaining closed. Their show windows still showing some scattered goods.
Were the owners just teasing us? Was this part of College turning into a mini ghost town?

Two flower shops were in the 'scenter' of the area. They competed with two outside stall entrepreneurs who defiantly set up shop nearby. Four 'scents' did not make sense at all I sensed.

Menswear, ladiesware, childswear, pregnantwear, shoeware and noveltywear shops vied for attention, all kind of wearing us down.
We needed a diversion and it came in the shape of a pasta shop
displaying, and producing pasta by the yard in living color.
We stood outside and gawked unahamedly.

Once in the store we were trapped into buying one or more of a thousand delicacies begging for attention. I bought one of those and one of that and one of these and one of the other ones near the bright-looking one that Aaron pointed out to me. We chewed in unison. Life was good.

We left College, our Street, and onto the Park, our Orchard.
"Onto the orchard." I cried, and on we went. Fifteen minutes later the orchaard opened its gates and we strode in, nature lovers to the core. We admired the flowers that grew in orderly and wild profusion, the colors competing for attention. I hoped Aaron would not ask me to name any of them. Names of flowers, plants, trees, birds in general, escape me. But isn't a rose by any other name , still a rose? We took deep satisfying breaths.

We decided to stop at the school playground off Chabot Ave. This one was completely unconventional. There were giant tires waitng for kiddies to crawl through or sprawl on.
Fat trees stumps at varying heights joined together, inviting all to sit on them, to climb them or simply stand and admire them.
Colorful sand boxes begged for pails and shovels or busy hands to
sift through the grains of sand. Wood catwalks dared adventurers to 'Walk the Plank". Slides that twisted and turned asked for experienced sliders, those with a slide degree.

We played hide-and-seek -- a favorite game of my playmate. We zoomed down the slide -- "Whee, whee," we sang ot in pure, unadulterated joy. We walked the Plank as ordered by Captain Bligh; Jump said the Captain. We jumped and landed on dry sand. "Saved, we're saved," I cried. Laugh a minute Aaron laughed uproariously.

When we had exhausted ourselves as well as the apparatus, it was time to say good-bye. Home James," I said with an exaggerated English accent.

We recessed under the Bart trellis on College and Keith. It was nice and shady and the benches were inviting and welcoming.
A cool place to cool down and observe the passing parade, a parade of ordinary people. We observed and were observed in turn.

I busied myself with making our sight-see-er comfortable when we got home. I was becomng a quick-change artist. His wet diaper was removed with a flourish, followed by a dry rubdown.
Vaseline was applied to the rashes around his buttocks. A dry diaper stood at attention while Aaron gently slipped into it.
Rubber pants came next and a fresh undershirt. A few little bits and ends, and voila. A hausfrau couldn't have done it better.
I held out my arms and Aaron leaped into them.

His midday meal started with a bottle. I placed the bottle in a pot of water to warm up. As soon as Aaron spotted it I knew I was in for anxiety cries. His mouth screwed up in anguish and his arms began waving frantically. His demanding cries became more insistent with each passing second.

"Diversion, diversion," I cried and rushed him out to the front balcony. Reaching up, I pushed the chimes suspended from the ceiling. His crying stopped at once. He was enthralled and I believe I could see his ears open up as he reached for the magic above. His famous smile emerged and my heart turned over. Not an easy task.

As usual he needed no prompting during mealtime. A gourmond of a gourmet was Aaron. My watch read 2:30 P.M. I decided to give him thirty minutes of playtime before taking him out for his last walk of the day.

His playpen seemed to work this time around. He was not falling all over the place. He chirped happily as he went at his toys with a vengeance. I managed to catch up with the news of the day, do some writing, and even took in a little television. I even managed to prepare and eat a sandwich.

We sortied out once more. He was asleep before I turned the corner. "Pleasant dreams dear boy," I said out loud. Two women trned around and smled broadly. I smled back. Aaron slept on, a soft smile on his angelc face, brightning the day.

At 6 P.M. I was ready. My charge had been aired three times, slept a total of some four hours, downed three nourishing meals, been diaper changed at least five times, bathed, played with, and treated royally throughout the day. I was exhausted but he was happy, sated, neat and sanitary.

Phyllis walked in, her eyes sending love as she saw Aaron in his chair. "How did it go?" she asked. "Nothing could of been easier," I said brightly.

I drove home in a happy daze. This bachelor had been a mother for a day and enjoyed it.

ALL CREATURES, SMALL AND LARGE

"It's raining," said Sam ever so sadly,
'The worms will emerge and fare badly."

"They're only worms," replied Liz with a shiver,
"for all I care, they can jump in the river.

"You don't know what you say, you're out of line.
They are fat and jolly and quite simply divine.
They were put on this earth for a good reason,
so plants and trees could grow all season."

"What do you mean, I don't understand?
They're so underfooot and underhand."

"Liz, if you listen, I'll tell you the truth;
How this little old earth was just about new.
Along came these worms, oh maybe a million,
and made holes in the ground, like maybe a trillion.
They bored holes to the top and then to the bottom,
although nobody, nobody, had really taught 'em.

"But Sam, I mean, why ever for,
did they do that to the earth's core?"

"You don't follow, so hear me please,
holes in the ground help the flowers and trees.
They grow to be healthy, strong and proud,
those holes make the earth breathe,
just like it was very evenly plowed.
And everyone and everything, has got to inhale,
if they did'nt do that, they wouldn't exhale.
You see how worms are really needed?
Because of what they do, plants can be seeded."

Liz shook her head in awe and wonder,
as the rain slashed down,
there was lightning and thunder.

"OK Sam, there's been enough talking.
lets put on our coats and get to walking."

"Before we go Liz,
I want to explain,
what makes these worms
come out in the rain.
The earth is loosened
so they can emerge,
when they come up,
they will not submerge."

Liz interrupted,
"Sam, let me say my piece,
they want to come out,
it's a kind of release.
The worms have no eyes,
they cannnot see,
and they have no feet,
like you or me."

"Right," said Sam, "they move to the walks
and roads,
they don't know traffic or the city codes."

Then Liz chimed in, "and then they get stuck,
'cause they move best on earth and muck."

So Liz and Sam, ran with all their might,
and soon saw a bewildering sight.
There worms that were fat,
and some that were lean.
There were mothers and fathers,
and many a pre-teen.
There were those that were short,
and those that were long,
and even a giant worm,
they named King Kong.

Sam and Liz got busy together.
Not minding the rain or the weather.
They picked them up by ones, twos, and threes,
and placed them gently, beside some trees.

They worked like beavers, for hour after hour,
to place these creatures back in their bower.
Their bodies were drenched, even their clothes,
their shorts and socks, right down to their toes.

And when they counted up to three thousand and nine,
they looked at each other, and they said fine.
They'd done their good deed, throughout the day,
and now they could go home and get to play.

Their mothers were waiting,
and they said together,
"What made you go out.
in this awful weather?"

Sam hastened to explain,
the how and the why,
"Well if we didn't,
the worms, they would simply die.
You see, these worms come out to play,
whenever there is a rainy day,
and they wiggle here,
and they wiggle there,
and they land up in spots,
that are really bare.
then they get stuck and cannot slide,
unless someone kindly puts them aside."

You're really special, you're really sweet,
we're going to
give you a special treat.

"Oh girl," said Liz,"Oh boy," said Sam,
and soon they were eating bread and jam,
and a piece of cake
like mothers bake,
and a banana split with a topping of cherries,
and apples and oranges and a bunch of berries.

So Liz and Sam had a real royal feast,
It was a rewarding day, to say the least.

A DAY CAN LAST FOREVER

Little four year old Joey was propped up in his upstairs bedroom with a medium sized cold.
He was bored, he was restless, he needed activity.
“Mommy,” he yelled as loud as he could, but he couldn’t yell very loud because of his cold. It sounded more like a croak.

Moms can hear whispers and croaks when their children are sick or feeling bad. Their ears stand at attention, just waiting to hear any signs of distress.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” answered Anita, his mom, climbing the stairs two at a time … without pausing at the landing to take a breath, she burst into the room at a gallop. “What’s wrong dearest?” she asked, breathing heavily.

“Mom, I’m bored, I’m restless and I need to do something. I’m going crazy. I want to go out and play with Sandy.” And having said all that, Joey folded his arms and waited hopefully for an o’kay.

“I can’t let you go out, my precious, you’re cold will only get worse and I’m sure you don’t want that to happen, do you?”

“But mom, I’ll dress warm, real warm. I’ll put on two sweaters, and two turtlenecks, and a jacket and a coat and a scarf and a cap and boots. I’ll be warm, I’ll sweat a lot and I’ll be all better when I come back, you’ll see. I’ll tell Sandy to stay away from me and she won’t catch my cold. Can I go mom, can I go, please, please?” The last was said so plaintively. It was sheer will power that prevented Anita from agreeing. She looked down at Joey with a half smile, thinking of how adorable, how sweet, how much of an actor he was.

“I’d love to say yes my love but I care for you too much to do that. Wearing all those clothes will make you sweat but it won’t stop the cold from getting worse. The only thing that will make you well is rest. You want to get better real fast, don’t you?”

“Yes but ----“

“ No buts my young man, you just have to stay put. Pretty soon, maybe in two or three days, you’ll be able go out and play.”

“Two or three days?” Joey’s face fell, he looked very sad. The corners of his mouth sort of drooped. “I wanna do something,” he demanded.

“Why don’t I tell you a story honey?” mom said brightly.

Joey’s eyes started to smile with excitement. “Oh boy, oh boy,” he said, clapping his hands. “Make it a real one,” he added. The outside could wait, Joey decided.

“Certainly Joey, what would you like to hear about?”
There was no hesitation. Joey wanted his favorite true story. “I want to hear about how I was borned.”

“You want to hear about how you were born?” She emphasized the last word.

“Yes I do, I do, I do,” Joey said, bouncing up and down all the while.

“After your dad and I were married a while,” Anita started, “We decided to have a baby because there was so much extra love in the house that we needed a place to put it. We thought you would be the perfect guy to give it to.” Anita paused, knowing what Joey would say.

He was right on cue. “What happened then?”

“I became pregnant and started carrying you around wherever I went. I was on the outside and you were on the inside. You kept on getting bigger and bigger,” Anita said, bringing her arms further and further apart.

“After three months had gone by, I looked down and I couldn’t see my feet because of my stomach. You kept on growing and growing and growing.”

“And I got bigger and bigger and bigger,” Joey echoed happily. “Yes you sure did,” mommy said and then continued, “What happened toward the end of my pregnancy?” she asked, a twinkle in her eyes.

“I know, I know, don’t tell me.” He thought for a second or two and then blurted, “I remember, I started to knock on the inside of your tummy. I went knock, knock.” Joey waited breathlessly for the next part of the well known drama.

“That’s right Joey, and I asked, who’s there?”

“But I wouldn’t answer,“ Joey exulted, enjoying the game more and more.

“And why couldn’t you answer, you little rascal?” Mom said with a little laugh.

:”Because babies don’t talk before they are born,” Joey shouted triumphantly.

“But I didn’t care, I just kept on talking to you as if you
were able to answer.”

“And one day you were outside,” Joey prompted.

“And I started to talk to you, nice and cosy like in my tummy. I pointed my mouth towards my belly button and said, “Isn’t it a nice day son?”

“And a man came along,” Joey interrupted, hugging himself with excitement. He knew the best part was coming.

“He looked at me and his eyes opened wide with wonder,” mom said giggling, and he asked, “Why are you talking to your tummy?”

“I’m not talking to my tummy,” I replied, “I’m talking to an almost real person.”

He laughed in a sort of funny way, “You’re talking to an almost real person and not to your tummy,” he repeated. “That’s a good one, now I’ve heard everything.” His face became really stern then and he added, “Madam, I’ll have you know that my eyesight is one hundred per cent perfect. You were definitely talking to your tummy.”

“But sir,” I answered, “I’m not talking to the outside of my tummy, only to the inside.”

“Only to the inside, only to the inside,” he repeated, his face became as red as a beet. “You mean to stand there and tell me to my face that you are talking to the inside of your stomach. Madam, you’ll be pleased to know that I was not born yesterday,” and he stamped his foot impatiently.

“That’s just it, you weren’t born yesterday, but my son will be born tomorrow or the day after and I‘m trying to make him feel less lonesome by talking to him.”

He looked at me, his mouth fell open but no words came out for at least ten seconds. Finally words came tumbling out, “Your talking to your son and he is not even born yet, boy that takes the cake,” and with that, he turned and walked off talking to himself.

“Boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, that woman is talking to someone who isn’t there in person.” Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho.

Joey started to laugh at the same time as the ho ho ho had started. When that little guy started to laugh, his whole face lit up like a beacon and it was a good thing to see.
When he finally managed to stop laughing, he asked, “And then what happened?”

“What happened? Why the very next day you decided to come out and see what the world looked like from the outside.”
“What did I look like mummy?”

“Daddy and I thought you were the most beautiful being on earth. You had lots of black hair, and you had the cutest little mouth and nose. You were big too, eight and a half pounds of chubby joy. We loved every ounce.”

Joey listened, a happy smile on his face, “What did I do next?” he asked, knowing the answer in advance, but never tiring of hearing it again.

“Well you were awfully hungry, I could see but you couldn’t. All babies do not see right after birth. Anyway your mouth kept on opening and closing and you made little mewing sounds, very much like a kitten.”
Joey mewed like a kitten several times, hugging himself all the while. This is almost better than playing outside, he thought.

His mom continued, eyes shining with laughter, “I didn’t have any peanut butter sandwiches, I didn’t have applesauce or yogurt, I didn’t have a veggie burger, and I didn’t have a fruit or tofu vegetable salad.”

Joey couldn’t contain himself, “What did you have mummy?” he shouted.

“I had good mother’s milk and you drank as if there was no tomorrow. I think you wanted t fill every ounce of your eight and a half pounds.”

The story was coming to an end. Joey wished it could go on forever. His eyes started to close, he yawned once and then again for good luck.

Anita’s voice went on, all soft and purry, Joey heard it coming from far away. It was so comforting.

“Dad and I were so proud of you. We showed you off to your grandmas and grandpas and to all your aunties and uncles and to our friends and neighbors.”

Anita stopped, Joey was fast asleep, a little smile playing across his face. She leaned forward and kissed the smile softly.

THE SMILE THAT TRAVELED

It started with one smile, a beautiful grin,
that opened Charlie’s mouth, down to his chin.
He looked in the mirror, to see his reflection,
and said with a smile, it passes inspection.

That smile is so nice, I’ll just paste it on, to
a girl or a boy, or even anyone.
A five year old girl, came skipping into view,
and he pasted her one, until she smiled too.

You see a smile, can be quite catching.
And soon all around, big smiles were hatching.
That smiled traveled like a disease,
but unlike a sickness, it was more of a tease.

Now that smile has boarded a train and all
are smiling like a big smile chain .
That grin got off in good old Texas,
and promptly infected all walking sexes.

The smile that started, is going apace,
It’s starting to inject, the whole human race.
See that couple strolling arm in arm,
now they’re smiling , so what’s the harm.

That smile won’t stop, it’s speeding like crazy,
and now it’s caught up to a girl called Mazie.
Mazie passed it on to her class teacher,
and now her mouth, is a smiling feature.

All the boys and girls, are smiling like mad,
and absolutely no one, is the least bit sad.
And now that nice smile has found its way into a post office open every night and day.
That smile went knocking inside each letter and said, “Let me in, I’ll make you better.

Each word that was sent, carried a wink and one landed on old Harry the mink.
Every hair on his body stood up and giggled, Harry was so happy, he shook and he wiggled.
The smiles are moving in every which way, most keep on going, but some stop to play.
The playground was full when smiles entered and all the smiles were suddenly dentured.

The people in the north felt down in the mouth but when the smiles entered, they went south.
Don’t ask me why, or I’ll turn over and die.

Babies were bawling on almost every street but when those smiles entered, it was a treat.
They stopped their bawling and their crying, now all those baby’s tears are kind of drying.
On and on, those smiles are running and wherever they go it starts everyone funning.
The wax museums have figures galore that look like people on every floor.
Not one was smiling, their faces were stony but now all are smiling, and that’s no baloney.

Barber of Seville has come to life, smiling broadly and so is his wife.
It’s crossed the sea, landed in Europe, how many smiles will it stir up.
I’ll tell you, the numbers are mounting but who in the world is counting
It’s reached the royal regals and pasted smiles on royal eagles.

That bird is singing God save the Queen and on its beak a smile is seen.
A smile can turn into a laugh, and now it’s seen on a spotted giraffe.
He’s laughing so hard, his spots are falling, even so, that’s better than bawling.

Hansel and Gretel are lost in the forest,
but the laugh arrives and they join in the chorus.

The skiers were skiing down a mountain slope,
and the sun came out and turned the snow into soap.
Now all of you know what a mess that can be
but the skiers just laughed, it was so funny to see.

The smile leader said, “Let’s visit all books,”
and they filled page after page with great smiling looks.

Now the smiles and laughter have left mother earth,
And visited the stars to fill them with mirth.
So now the earth was smiling, the whole universe too.
Wouldn’t it be grand if it all came true?

Oh, I forgot to tell you about the animals and the fishes.
They send you all their smirking good wishes.

DID YOU EVER?

Did you ever embrace a tree?
Did you ever scoop up some earth?
Did you ever bury your nose in a sea of moss?
Did you ever allow a ten foot wave to lift you?
Did you ever cover your body with ocean sand?
Did you ever feel the beating heart of a bird?
Did you ever climb a steep mountain?
Did you ever see your wife's face in repose?
Go to it, there is still time.

BELIEVE IT

I saw a leaf lazily drifting towards the earth.
Watching its descent closely,
I let it fall into my hands.

I felt the texture, I traced its curves.
It spoke to me.
I cried with sheer delight.

THE WIND SHE BLOW

The winds still howl
unabated
I cannot sleep
‘tis fated.
I’ve eaten breakfast,
Taken a shower,
Put on my clothes
And left my bower

If they find me buried
In a “byre” of snow.
I’ll ask them kindly
For some coffee to go.

THE STORM

White driven snow
Steered by winds gone mad
Piling up treacherously.
Cars strewn over city streets,
Like so many fallen kingpins,
Nature unaware of spring, of time,
Spewing forth its bile.
People walking with averted heads,
Stumbling to warm sanctuary.
Shopkeepers cursing the snow,
Children filled with joy,
Canceled learning, watching from warm havens,

Nevertheless one must glory
In the majesty of nature,
Rejoice in the sheer beauty,
White snow, havoc and beauty
Embracing, uncaring.

Glory be damned,
Give me golden suns,
Give me warm embraces.
I’m so cold, so cold, so weary.
I wanna go home to mummy.

SPRING HAS SPRUNG

Puffs of cotton batting drift lazily across blue skies

Birds chatter freely, full of gossip

Bees hum loudly, cats purr, dogs bark.

Young lovers kiss openly

Smiles are sparkling and laughter easy

When nature’s gifts are abundant

Spring has sprung

CAUGHT IN WINTER'S VISE

Unruly, ungentle, temperamental
Slashing, blinding, terrifying.
Winds demonic, furious, eerie.
Winter’s storm, not the norm,
unleashing tons of snow.

Man-made machines buried like coffins
Others trapped in cars unmoving.
Waiting, hoping, no way of coping
Heaters blowing, radios going,
No food, no provisions, no advance visions.
Haunting thoughts of home and hearth,
of hot food, of hot bath, of bed, of woman’s warmth.
Waiting,waiting, just miles away.

SO LONG

So long winter
So long cold
So long dampness
So long salted snow
So long traffic jams
So long freezing
So long heavy coats
So long as I live
I disown you
Go back to nature’s hell
You rotten has-been

GIRL FRIEND

Hello springtime
I welcome your warm rains
I bask in your suns
I bare my breast
To your gentle breezes

I caress your green grasses
and take pleasure under blue skies

Are you ready to go steady?

FALL MORNING

Greet the morning with a smile.
Let the sharp morning breezes
play on your bare breast,
Suck your stomach in,
feel the cold air search for
and find your lungs.
Repeat after me,
it is good to be alive.

RECIPE

Take one shiny apple,
Rub on trousers carefully
Slice in half
Squeeze gently
Allow the nectar to run trough your hands
Eat with Gusto or some other friend.

I FEEL, I SEE, I AM

I feel the rays of the sun and I am uplifted.
I feel balmy breezes on my chest
And I soar into space.
I see each blade of grass growing tall
And I rejoice.
I see the branches of stately trees
Budding with new life
And my ears are pleasured
I feel, I see, I am

WINTER

Denuded trees swaying like hula dancers
Helpless in nature’s icy grasp
Snow drifts waist high,
Roads like skating rinks
Car tires whining,
Impatient horns honking
Pedestrians huddled
Faces pinched, berry red
Goddam busses, goddam cold
Goddam country,
Brrrr!!!

SNOW FLAKE

I WATCHED A SINGLE SNOW FLAKE
DRIFT LAZILY TOWARD EARTH
SO WHITE, SO SURE, SO SAUCILY PURE
IT LANDED EVER SO GENTLY
BECOMING PART OF A SNOW DRIFT
CARVED BY NATURE’S ARCHITECT
I NEVER SAW THAT SNOW FLAKE AGAIN
I SHED A TEAR OR TWO, BOO HOO.

NATURE'S SYMPHONY

I WALKED NAKED IN THE RAIN
THE TORRENTS LASHED DOWN AT ME
I FELT CLEANSED, ALIVE, VIBRANT, ALL POWERFUL
MOVING THROUGH THE FOREST
MY EARS TINGLED WITH THUNDER’S SONG
LIGHTNING BOLTS LIT UP THE NIGHT
I WALKED ON, UNAFRAID
THE ELEMENTS AND I WERE ONE
NATURE MY ORCHESTRA,
I CONDUCTED WITH ABANDON

AN ODE TO TENNIS

Is there anything more satisfying
Than a drop shot expertly dying?
Or a lob shot that sails nicely to the rear
When your opponent at the net is near?
Or a whirling dervish of a spin
That helps contribute to a win?

Or a wicked, smashing, overhead drive
That makes your opposite go for a dive?
Or the taut music the sweet spot makes
Making you feel you got what it takes?
Can there be anything more pleasureable?
Of course not, it’s just downright immeasureable!

BE COOL MAN

Most of us reach a degree of competence
Others arrive at degrees of incompetence
The main thing is to play the game,
Even if your stroke is lame
And if a poor shot makes you madder,
Don’t let it, you will just get sadder
Be cool, kinda grin and bear it,
You will find this has lots of merit.

THE TALKER

Won’t shut up for a minute.
Delivers a running commentary,
Accompanied by sounds of anguish
As he begins to lose the set.

THE DANCER

The dancer is in constant motion,
all balletic grace.
Takes more steps to the square inch,
and is exhausted after just fifteen
minutes of play.
Slow down, get rid of your paunch
first, Mister Fatty.

SAY THERE

“I say old chap, would you care for a spot of tennis.
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is,
Reginald Dexter Winslow, the third.”

“It would be an honor to play with someone with such a long name. You can call me Abe the first.
When I was born, my parents took a look at me
And said I was the first and with any luck, the very
Last.”

“By the way Abe old boy, have you been playing long?”

“As a matter of fact Reggie old boy, I started only a month ago but I try to practice at least twice a week
and I am so pleased you invited me to play. You look like you are a tennis expert with your clothes so
white.”

“Well I do try you know and it really is good practice for me to show others less experienced than I a few
pointers and that sort of thing. Shall we?”

“Why not, I can only try. My best I will do. More than that I can’t do as they say, Reggila.”

“I must warn you, I never play down to anyone.
I play to win, regardless."

“Gung Ho, as they say in India or someplace.”

“I’ll toss a coin, head or tails Abe my boy?”

“So let it be tails, Reggie boy.”

“Tails it is , you’ll serve I presume?”

“Why not, listen, in singles it’s that tiny square?”

“Yes, yes, by golly.”

“Ho, Ho, I made a lucky serve, so that’s 15 love?”

“Beginner’s luck chappie.”

Abe serves right deep and the return whizzes by, out
By inches. 30 love

Abe calls “OUT” happily.

“Alright, alright, dammit, just watch my thunder.”

“You’re trying your best?

“Yes, I am, I am, damn!”

“Wow, I didn’t know I could jump so high, a short,
fat guy like me. So-o, it could be forty love, no?”

“You know, you know, you don’t have to ask, Jesus!!

“Oh my, so I made a double fault and you’re back
in the game with, 40/15, isn’t that nice?”

“Yes, I am just starting, I am just starting, fatso.”

“So names he’s calling already, okay macaroni,
I’m ready for what you got, mister.”

Thirty minutes have gone by and the game score
Is five/three in favor of Abe.

Abe is dancing around the court dry as a bone.

“You’re sweating too much already partner, maybe
you can use a rest, no?” Abe is concerned.

“Don’t worry about me, mister roly poly, play ball.
Hmm, hmm, and hmm and tsk, tsk, now you lose.”

“So let’s be sure now, I won 5 games and you only won 3 games. If I win this game I will win the set?'

There is a long rally that seems to go on and on and Reginald the Third is staggering from side to side and is now letting out all his frustration.
“Goddammit, shit, lousy runt, pure luck fatty, bloody asshole, abortion that lived, shitface.”

“My, my, temper, temper in December, this is a set you will remember.” And with that said, Abe smashes a winner. “Win lose, who cares, it’s only a game, right?"

“Reggie, Reggie, why are you jumping on your nice racket, how will we be able to play the next set?”

THE WEAK SERVER

The weak server
rushes the net and watches
the return ball whiz by him,
Good-bye mister.
Just will not learn.
Does it again and again.

SO THIS IS TENNIS?

Did you ever stop to think of the inanity,
of the absolute, incredible insanity,
of arming yourself with a racket,
prepared to hit or even hack at,
an innocent, defenseless, yellow ball,
that has never hurt anyone at all?

TENNIS ANTICS

THE HAND CRUSHER
Once your hand enters his mitt,
you can forget about playing tennis
for the next two weeks or so.

THE LIMPER
Never limps when winning.
Goes into his act only
when losing.

THE NON PRO
An unbidden tennis mentor who
takes all the joy out of playing.
Ends up tying you up in knots.
Thanks for nothing buddy.

THE TWIRLER
Twirls, and twirls, and twirls his racket
as he awaits your serve.
You itch to twirl his neck as you double fault

THE BOUNCER
You fall asleep waiting for this person to serve.
If you manage to stay awake, you grit your teeth a lot.

TENNIS ANYONE

Tennis is an all year sport.
There’s an inside and an outdoor court.
It’s not confined to young or old.
Once you’ve started you’re in the mold.
It’s poetry, it’s catching, it’s addictive.
Players are friendly, others vindictive.

I tell you straight, it does not matter.
I say it’s simply a gourmet platter.

TENNIS JUSTICE

The ball is long, you call it out.
Your opponent begins to rant and shout,
“Hey man, that ball was in a mile,
I was looking all the damn while!”

When that happens,
don’t you want to send him down the Nile
In a leaky rowboat without a paddle,
In an area infested with tsetse flies
and a piranha or two?

THE MYOPIC ONE

Calls in balls out, particularly
when losing.
This master schemer gains at least
ten to twelve points per set.
A pox on you and your ilk.

THE AIR STROKER

Every time this worthy
makes a bad stroke,
he corrects the error
by stroking the air once or twice
with his racket.
This is a lot simpler than making
proper contact with the ball.
Chaque un a son gout.
To each his own.

THE DONATOR

This doubles player has a habit
of feeding the opposing net person
again and again.
One can try to forgive and forget

But when this Santa also adds,
“Great return”, you have to bite
your tongue or commit mayhem.
Okay, mayhem it is.

THE FOOT FAULTER

Throws the ball into the air,
Advances six feet into the court
And is practically at the net
Before the ball sails over.
How do you do!!!!!!!!!

THE HITTER

Never takes anything off the ball,
regardless of countless mishits.
Classify him among the misfits.
Woe is he who never learns!

THE NET RUNNER

He serves and rushes the net
regardless of how weak his serve is.
He then watches the return whiz by him.
Never learns, but is in good physical
shape, this running ape.

THE RACKET THROWER

This guy is well off financially.
No sportsman he.
He throws when he overhits
He throws when he underhits
He throws when he loses

Staggers to the court with
A half dozen brand new rackets
And a gross of swear words.

THE STONEFACE

Never, but never cracks a
smile,
Not even once in a
while.
Plays grimly, won’t laugh
at your chatter.
Plays to win, no matter.

THE YAWNER

Spends his time stifling yawns
as he proceeds to destroy you
without half trying.
Mayhem is in order.
Kill, kill, kill!

THE EXCUSE MAKER

Has an excuse for every error.
“I’m not warm yet,
I thought it was going out,
I took my eye off the ball,
I forgot to bring my racket back,
my leg cramped up,
gosh, I thought you were taking it.”

Strangulation is definitely in order!!!!!

THE SCORE KEEPER

This person is a menace to your sanity,
He is entirely full of his very own vanity.
He calls the score while receiving.
When you are leading he calls it deuce.
What can you do with this silly goose?

When you disagree to his folly.
He says, I trust you by golly.
At about this time you can ring his neck
And say, I trust you too, what the heck.

THE STAY 'PUT' PLAYER

The stay 'put' player gives up the ball if it lands
two feet from his racket and says,
“I just could not hack it” and then adds,
“terrific shot old boy.”
Who is this guy, anyway?

THE PUSHER

This player takes steroids and has more
muscles than is humanly possible.
This Goliath never turns a shoulder.
Is he just too bolder, too young, or too older?
As he uses brute strength to push or propel
the ball over the net.
Shotput, anyone?

THE BOUNCER

You fall asleep waiting to receive his serve.
This notorious bouncer just keeps bouncing,
and bouncing while you wish you can give him
a royal trouncing.

THE TWIRLER

The twirler, twirls and twirls his racket
as he awaits your serve.
You itch to twirl his neck
as you double fault.

WINNING IS NOT EVERYTHING

I really couldn’t care less if I win or lose.
It’s sociability, the conversation, the news.
The main thing is to have some fun,
to sweat a little and maybe run.
Right? So why am I not smiling,
when points against me are piling?

THE POACHER

The poacher is a born nomad.
Never lets his partner return a ball.
He is here, he is there, he is everywhere,
and when the set is lost because of his greed,
he blames his partner for the deed.

RACKET MISBEHAVING

How come the ball will not follow
instruction?
And seems only bent on my
destruction?
I follow through with classic
style
But the errant ball travels a
mile.
I bend my knees, I point my shoulder
but the stupid ball only gets bolder

Hey, I betcha it’s my new racket
that’s making me over-hack it.

I AM AN ACE?

I played three sets of active tennis.
Throughout the match I was a menace.
I sliced, I chopped, I smashed,
I hopped , I ran, I dashed

I can fantasize with the best,
but maybe, just maybe,
I should give tennis a rest?

A MATCH FOR ALL SEASONS

It was the match of the season, the one to see
between six foot McClusky and five foot me.
Let’s face it, the guy was a tower, a walking crane,
liable to fill an opponent with plenty of pain.
He looked at me and spoke, a grin on his face,
“Say there short stuff, can you keep up the pace?”
“My name is Higgins,” I angrily retorted,
“You use my name the way it was reported.”
He just stared and sneered, then gave me his back,
but he’d gone too far, had used the wrong tack.
What I lack in size, I make up in spirit,
I found that his height, I no longer feared it.
I won the toss, I chose to serve,
I was icy calm, with steel-like nerve,
I tossed the ball to the proper height,
And then smashed it down with all my might,
It was a perfect beginning, a perfect ace,
Giving me momentum and a lot of pace.
I double faulted on my very next serve,
and when he snorted, it just added verve.
The next ball in play went on forever,
because his volleys were ever so clever.
But I was here, there, and all over the place.
I rallied, and volleyed, and gave proper chase.
I won that point and the next one too.
I was in form, I was hitting true.
“Forty/fifteen Higgins, cried the voice from on high.
I had clear advantage, it was now do or die.
I aced him again with a serve that curved.
It was my game, I could see he was unnerved.
Close to an hour had gone by, it was mighty hot,
the crowd rallied behind me, it helped a lot.
It was his turn to serve at four games to five.
I could see he was determined to stay alive.
The game was long, it was deuce after deuce,
But the giant was puffing, running out of juice.
I knew I had him, I was as fresh as a daisy,
Just had to play my game and not get lazy.
The fans were in a frenzy, yelling themselves hoarse,
“it’s Higgins, it’s Higgins, it’s Higgins of course.”
He was serving again, it was his ad out,
I knew I could beat him, if I moved him about.
When I had him going from side to side,
I faked him proper and he took a slide.
The first set was mine at six to four,
And the crowd let out a mighty roar.
I put up my hands, it was far from over,
I needed the next one to be in clover.
As we toweled down, sitting side by side,
McClusky grated, “wait we’ll soon be tied.”
The man was a fighter, I have to say,
His legs came back and he began to play.
His serve was true, his shots precise,
He wouldn’t let up, I was in a vise.
I tried my lob, I tried my spin,
I tried my cut, but I could not win.
So there we stood, it was one set apiece.
The sun had become hotter, the heat wouldn’t cease,
But the victory had cost him, I could see him sag.
Again I thought, I had the game in the bag.
I fought like a tiger, I fought like a lion,
My serve was right on, my hits just fine.
I moved him far right, then hit far left,
My hits were strong, my hits were deft.
When he staggered to cover, I drop shot him right,
I could see his game was just going out of sight.
“McClusky,” I yelled, “you long macaroni,
I’m not after all, so full of baloney,
I may be short, and you may be tall,
but who do you think will take a fall?”
His mouth remained open, he could not reply.
Then I lobbed him and the ball soared high.
It landed behind him and spun away,
And that was the end of a perfect day.
Oh sweet honeyed victory, it was six over two,
The end of the match and my finest coup.

OH A HIGH

Some people race, some people fly,
But playing tennis gives me a high
I need no drugs, I need no pills,
It’s on the court I get my thrills
So serve them up, let’s start a game
By the way, did I get your name?

TENNIS BUMS

The true tennis bum will not be deterred
when to the court they are lured.
Enthusiasm will never fizzle,
even in a medium-sized drizzle,
through aches, through pain, they will never wane.

Tennis elbow, or even tennis pulls
will not worry these stubborn mules.
So three cheers for the tennis bum,
he is the one who makes things hum.

THE BIRDS AND THE BEES

The birds outside sang their songs
But teacher, you went on, and on, and on.
A train whistled long and loud,
But teacher, you went on, and on, and on.
A flower pleased my senses,
But teacher, you went on, and on, and on.
When the final bell rang,
I was gone, gone, gone.

CAREER

"What do you want to be when you grow up," asked the teacher.
"Older." I said reasonably
"There'S no use being smart-alecky," teacher said,
looking down at my 9 year old, defenseless body"
"Now answer the question intelligently,"
she went on remorselessly.
I thought a while and was inspired,
"I'd like to be a teacher," I said innocently.
"Wonderful," she replied , beaming,
"A teacher," I went on, "Who does not ask 9
year old kids impossible questions"
I spent the rest of the afternoon in the
cloakroom, reading.

PUNISHMENT

In the good old days,
in the good old days,
you'd be punished in school
in a number of ways.
It was the ruler, the strap,
or the wooden cane,
or anythng handy,
that would bring some pain.

When it wasn't physical,
it was kinda mental.
Being sent to the cloakroom,
was considered gentle.
Or the teacher would say,
with a happy smile,
"You stay here after school,
and write lines by the mile."

There was one more punishment
these idiots inflicted,
for talking out of turn,
or being contradicted.
'Oscar, they'd say.
"You sit with Ruth."
Would you believe it?
I'm telling the truth.

That was the dumbest punishment of all
'cause I just sat there and had me a ball.

BACK SEAT

I sit in the back of the class
It’s nice and quiet there
I can scratch, I can squirm,
I can see outside, I can dream.
Nobody bothers me,
Teacher does not even know that I am alive.
Doesn’t she care?

SCHOOL WAYS

“Teacher, teacher,” I called out desperately, waving my arms up high.
“What is it Oscar,” she said crossly.
“May I leave the room please?” I implored.
“This is not a kindergarten, you are old enough to control yourself, you will just have to wait.” She said through tight lips.
My eyes exuded hate as nature stained my trousers

PUZZLER

“At sixty miles an hour, how long does it take
to travel a hundred yards?”
“Jeffrey, will you come up to the blackboard
and do this for the class?”
“JEFFREY, I’m talking to you.”

“Oh, do you mean me teacher?
I thought you meant somebody else entirely.”

“I am still WAITING JEFFREY!!!!
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”

“I sprained my ankle
and my thumb,
besides in ‘rithmetic
I’m really dumb,
Ask Clarissa, the brain of the class
So I can clearly see her legs and her ass.”

“Jeffrey, you’re awfully bad, you make me mad and
sad my wayward lad, you better stay in after class
and I’ll let you see my grown up ass.”

WEEKENDS ONLY

I always did everything until I got here with you.
I was the king of the castle, I ran like the wind.
I found all the secret treasures.
But now I’m not good at anything teacher, except on Saturdays and Sundays.

PEE PEE

Sometime I don’t pee straight.
Jimmy pees very straight.
Is that why he is your most
favorite, teacher

HOUSE CALL

I’d invite you over to my house, teacher,
but I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand.
You see my brother Jimmy eats with his mouth
open wide, and my pa burps a lot and my ma
wears old clothes and stuff, and my dog is not
really house-trained or anything.
Besides, my house is very old and don’t smell
so good and you know something, you can kiss
my royal ass ‘cause who needs you anyway.

DOUBLE STANDARD

When my parents came in to see you
Principal sir,
you were ever so sweet, so polite.
I wonder why you don’t talk to me the
way you talk to them, sir?

POEM SIX

The eyes have it
Therein lie warm secrets
Messages flow uninterrupted
Seasoned with past excitations
Shared realities, limitless glories, untold stories

Your eyes warm my heart and penetrate my soul

POEM FIVE

Marcia, beloved wife
Fantasy woman
I love thee well
My tigress queen

Marcia, golden shemale
Voluptuous woman
I ken you well
Open your soft petals

Oh my Marcia
You ignite
The flame within me

POEM FOUR

Safeway expedition
Linked hands
Cans, fruits, vegetables
Pyramiding, overflowing, spreading
Now sixty-one years after our wedding

Linked hands
Empathy, trust, love
Pyramiding, overflowing, spreading
Never ending

POEM THREE

First night of love
Second night of love
Third night of love
Fourth afternoon of love
Fourth night of love
Fifth morning of love
Fifth afternoon of love
Fifth night of love

GIVE UP, GIVE UP !!!!!!
If you don’t say uncle, I’ll be dead !!!!!!!

POEM TWO

Woman in repose
Body slack
Features exceptionally beautiful
Eyes fondle soft curves
Hands trace the exquisite designs
Of face and body
My body alive with wonder

POEM ONE

Beloved sleeping face
Suffused, soft, symmetrical
Features relaxed
An invitation, a promise of glories past
And exquisite nows.

My eyes touch your face
My lips brush yours
Hands stealthily exploring valleys
In the night

I SPEAK

Let my heart speak to you,
can you hear its thunder?
Let my eyes speak to you,
can you see their brightness?

Let my smile speak to you,
can you feel its laughter?
Let my lips speak to you,
can you respond to its nursing?

Let my mind speak to you,
can you sense its churning?

Let us seek each other
Love each other
Romance each other
Forever and a day

SUPERMAN

A woman’s body in repose
Is a work of art
Listen to
soft breathing sounds
See
Involuntary rem movements
Hear
The rustle of silk
See
Into every crevice, every protuberance
Let nothing escape

Trace each curve, each mound,
Each rise and fall with voyeur eyes
Your eyes now glazed with a touch of madness.

You are ten feet tall, all rigid steel.
You are everyman, you are superman !!!!

CRAZY GLUE

Come, come, come to me only
Ride me as if I were a pony.
If I snort or even neigh
Just continue to play and lay

Don’t you stop for at least an hour,
Let your erection be my tower.
Woo me, screw me, lick me dry
Just obey me, don’t ask me why

Better still, while we continue to screw
I’ll cement us together with Crazy glue.

BED PALS

She lay there naked and unashamed.
She got up and stretched her tawny body.
I watched her with open admiration.
“Come here my darling,” I whispered
as I lay back in bed.
She moved slowly, with balletic grace
And with a contented purr she was in my arms.
“That’s a good pussy,” I said,
as she devoured the sardine I gave her

DRESS REHEARSAL

Her dress was made of feathers,
“Blow” she commanded’
I blue, so what else is new?

KISSES AIN’T WHAT THEY USED TO BE

Most everyone over 50 remembers the chaste kissing of old – the
pressing of two sets of lips together gently, almost apologetically.
It was the embrace that counted most, the kiss was the means
to and end.

The kiss, when it was allowed by the fairer sex, had its moments.
The merest tough of a lover’s lips could send shock waves from stem to stern coursing through our manly veins.

Those of us who were more adventurous would try a little mouth exploration with delicate, probing tongue sorties. This was not always received well. Slaps and verbal rebuffs were not uncommon and female mouths would remain hermetically sealed… virginally closed as it were.

The sixties ushered in a whole new set of rules. It was called no rules; Everything was not only allowed, but joyously participated in.
Tongue battles ensued, tongues feinted, thrust, parried and scored. Tongues laved tongues and a real mouth cleansing followed. Oral hygiene it was not but no one seemed to care.

Mouths swooped down on open receptive mouths; Lips were swallowed along with saliva as one went about greedily gorging, gulping and gasping.

Meantime, hands became busy exploring everything it could reach. One came up for air from time to time.


Thin lips in the eighties became passé. For a consideration of some $300 , the gentle sex could have their lips enlarged by plastic surgeons who laughed all the way to the bank. Since the results lasted only three months, much laughter was heard throughout the land.

Armed with new, enlarged, “sensuous” lips, women went about with their lips on parade --- ready, willing and able to join the kissing game with renewed vigor.

Television and cinema screens took time out from scenes of murder and arson to deliver the very latest in mouth to mouth resuscitation, close-ups and a bit of copulation as an additional treat. Pay t.v. and exrated movies, had tongues and mouths going ever lower into territory never even mentioned in days of yore.

We’ve come a long, long way from a time where kissing to some was thought to bring on pregnancy.

Wither now: Girl meets boy, boy meets girl, lips and mouths meet and mesh. This is sometimes followed by introductions and sometimes not. Hello is now passé. Onward, ever onward.