There had been times


There had been times
There had been times
There had been times.


Wednesday Evening


The smell of the workweek is fried fish —
on the verge of burning
and flaccid green beans —
pushed to their limits.

The sound is of arguing & stomping —
the clinking of dishes
the television sparks —
a war in Tel Aviv

The setting off of lawn sprinklers
The smell of moisture on concrete

Hope is coming


a sign on a church property said that hope is coming
meaning that hope is not here right now but will arrive someday
meaning some of us may not live to see this happen
meaning our children’s children
meaning we must stand around waiting for this hope
meaning what: hoping for this hope
meaning what

Book notes


Today it occurred to me that a book should exceed a certain weight or size in order to be called a tome. Small, skinny books are not tomes. “Title” can be used to refer to a book of any size, however.

Today I saw a pamphlet-sized magazine in a magazine rack mixed in with the lit stuff. This, too, is erroneous taxonomy. Even worse was the fact that the pamphlet (or bulletin?) was $12 or so.

If you wanted to get really technical, then I will add to this list magazines that resemble paperbacks. Or are all paperbacks novels? The mind boggles.

Switching gears a bit, I’m tired of seeing Ansel Adams hogging up shelf space in the photography section at bookstores & libraries. And Picasso, too, in the art section. Although I like his work.

Workflow prose


Bludgeon me here in my cubicle. Dress me up in your dress code then smash me over the head with a time clock. Bring me to with a shower of coffee, cream and sugar, then sign me up for the company barbecue.

You ask me never to go home. I say yes, I am flexible. I want to not live. When I go, just leave my car happily in the B Lot and bring me a pillow so I can dream forever of your employee handbook and 401(k) manual.