i was getting a ride home

she had looked at me and said vámonos with that tiny jerk of the head that said let’s go/no argument

we went/she was telling me her favorite kinds of latin music/and she told her screen/and it would play

and she would move with the music/with shoulder shimmies and head tossbacks

and old as I am and young as she was i was stirred

she deliberately drove past my street and we drove on

I said to the screen FREDDY FENDER BEFORE THE NEXT TEARDROP FALLS

and freddy’s sweet lamenting voice filled the car/first in english then in spanish

and she was stirred/hearing that old-school song

and we came to my apartment/i patted her shoulder with my hand/but our heads seemed magnetically attracted/and they slightly clunked/with our heads both facing forward

and the truth is, i wanted to embrace her

and the real truth is, i wanted to grab her

and the stone ground truth is, it would have been wrong wrong wrong to grab her

so i didn’t/i got out and let her know without words/looking at her as i got out/that I sincerely enjoyed the ride/the moment

and she dawdled a little/lowering her driver’s side window/and saying inconsequentials/but finally “bye”

and i shook my head walking to my unit/muttering stuff like “jesus!” and “hot stuff”

like the foolish old man that i am

well, there goes health/and many human services/national parks/but hey we ought be nervousest/when we come/to the severing occurrence/of who tend/our nuclear deterrents.

chainsaws loud/uncaring of credential/slash and burn/regardless of potential/last hired going/on the chopping-block hypocrisy/in the name/of a despot’s “meritocracy”

I am tempted to change my last name

To Diddit.

“Who’s responsible for this?” “Gary Diddit.”

That’s the perception anyway.

I have been Ghosted.

The trouble is, I understand.

Years back I found a relative so toxic

That I did my best to exclude him

From my universe.

I was civil on those occasions

When we were in the same room together

But I had felt sufficiently betrayed

That my idea of the ideal interaction level

Was Zero.

Gradually I realized that avoiding him

Was giving him too much power over me

And that my passive-aggressive ghosting

Was also toxic.

But they who ghost me

Have their reasons.

Who’s compared #47 to Hitler–unfavorably?

Gary Diddit.

Who keeps arguing

After the horse is so dead

It has begun to decompose?

Gary Diddit.

Who let his addiction

Interfere with his relationships

Time and time again?

Gary Bowers, that’s who.

Acquiring a language may involve some tug and wrench

And fluency comes slowly to the phoneme-inattentive,

So if you want to Parlay-Voo and fill your speech with French,

The play on words comes to the fore to help, if you’re inventive.

“stiff knee” is descriptive but reductive

the knee demon dispenses pain/that makes the legowner gasp and curse

trips to the bathroom/are like horizontal traverses/of el capitan/punctuated with painblasts/loud and mindless/as a jackpotting slot machine

when getting back into bed/it is best to treat the leg/as if it were a mannequin’s

and once safely abed/do ultra-slow slight flexes of the site fulcrum/increasing the range of motion/from five to maybe seven degrees

and try to sleep

and agnostically pray the pain goes away

or at leastmost becomes manageable

but the knee demon is cruel/as is his playmate

the bladder demon

You know deep down implies

That Deep Down is a sanctuary for Truth

Away from distractive noise

And subtractive rhetoric.

So let us sink

Into the deep down

And quietly decide

Where our battlegrounds are

And which side we are on

And what we are prepared to pay.

We may not relish the answers

But the Deep Down

Doesn’t weasel.

the agglutination of cars at 5:36 pm

near a major intersection

in this major metropolitan area

as i watch them out the east window

of a burger king

makes me wonder why i am car shopping

.

a split second later i have answers aplenty

public transportation waxes unreliable

and feels more dangerous

and i spent more than two grand renting

last year alone

and walking at night is more dangerous too

and i’d get more dates as a man with a car

(maybe)

.

now it’s 5:58 and more duskish

the westbound drivers must be squinty

i can see one doing the visorgap slouch

and a big truck just did a jerk-to-a-stop

.

and at $5K down

$300/mo for 60 months

and god knows how much

to insure this septuagenarian

a car is looking more and more

like an unaffordable luxury

.

but i think as the dusk deepens

about sliding into that driver’s seat anytime

destination anywhere

what

a

rush

when you learn/you become/but before you get good at what you are learning to do/you are so bad it is embarrassing

the embarrassment makes some give up

the stubborn keep at it/embarrassments are less frequent/and begin to be interleaved/with successes

and some who are stubborn but not passionate/will give up at that point/with a self-congratulatory “mission accomplished”/and an urge to shift focus

the passionate keep at it/and pile up experience/and one fine day/there is a “beyond their wildest dreams” moment

they have done something that rewards/their day after week after month after season efforts/something worthy of peer recognition/worthy of celebration/worthy of something beyond congratulation

and that is quiet knowledge:

they know that they are Good

the rest of my life will be but a blink of Eternity’s five-lobed eye/yet i fritter away a hefty chunk of my remaining time/playing games offered me by this thrice-curst “smartphone”

one game whose initials do not stand for World Wrestling Federation/wants my money/so they throw annoying ads at me/and then they offer me a deal of 30-day Ad Free for $$4.99

isn’t that extortion, O Friends With Words?

many of the ads are for games/and one features a crosseyed king who is always imprisoned and threatened with crushing/by stones or ball bearings or other relentless stuff/and the more primary-color blocks you blast away by positional alignment/the more room the falling deathmass has to go/thus helping you save the king

there’s another one you can tell was designed by the same team/involving a large but cute bear imperiled by rising piranha-infested water/and your efforts MIGHT drain enough water away/before his fate is sealed with a sploosh

and yet another involving a young betty&veronica cute girl picking her way to safety whilst death creeps in from stage right

so i’m guessing the game-makers are targeting/those poor saps psychologists have labeled as “rescuers”

and my inference is that these death-by-inundation scenarios are intended to push those thalamic 🧠 buttons and make the payoff of saving the king or the bear or the girl immediately precede an ad paid for by a charity or an insurance company

but Cripes on a Crutch the REAL inundation/is with all of these distractions benign/or malign

and more and more when i finally exit the Scrabblesque game i have been inveigled to play

i feel relief that i have escaped the piranha

10

you are seven years old/you play jumprope at recess with girls/and today the teacher on duty pulls you away/and tells you there is something terribly wrong with you/and you cry

9

you are twenty-one years old/one of the most intelligent and beautiful young women in the Universe is your sweetheart/and you don’t appreciate her/till she isn’t your sweetheart any more

8

you are thirty-five years old/your child’s head is crowning and you can see hair/and the doctor comes in and shoulders you out of the way/and at eight fifty-seven pm he says “it’s a girl!”

7

you are forty-nine years old/and your wife  suggests you might “discreetly date” other women/ and caps the lopsided discussion with “just don’t make a fool out of me”

6

it is the weekend of your fifty-eighth birthday/and you are in a tent on a campsite with the woman you love/and it has been intermittently raining/and she tells you something that breaks your heart

5

you are sixty years old/and you live in one of the most beautifully landscaped places on Earth/and you are walking outside in the dark/and thanks to the light pollution laws there are an unbelievable number of stars in the night sky

4

you are today years old/midway through a poem/speculating about the future/and letting your mind wander

3

you are a hundred and fifteen years old/looking in the mirror after your fourth rejuvenation/flexing the taut muscles of your forearms/and a disembodied voice says “what kind of day would you like–regular, or frisky?”/and you reply that you want to be with a friend/and soon you and gillian are on your way to laos/to visit and play games with her kids

2

you are eight thousand, four hundred and thirty-one years old/and your spark inhabits the body of an orangutan/and you use your gangly arms to swing through trees in the tangy, humid jungle, and you intend to exercise to exhaustion and then have a boy-orangutan have his way with you/so that you will add another unique experience to your extensive collection

1

you are twenty billion years old, more or less/and Old Sol has engulfed the Earth in red swollen expansion/and you and a cluster of like minds/are “dancing” on Europa/the while participating in a lively symposium/loosely themed “What NOW?”

0

the universe has wound down/the stuff of it has cooled to just above absolute zero/and you use your remaining crumb of hoarded energy/to do a rewind of your trillion-year lifetime/kissing lovers hello/apologizing for all of your misdeeds/revelling in the lush loving episodes of yore/with a certain grand detachment/until you face the seven-year-old boy you used to be

you tell him with your last bit of consciousness/that playing jumprope with the girls in defiance of that nasty teacher was your crowning achievement/and both of your ghosts smile

as you fade into the cosmic fuzz of the mysterious Beyond