
tanka very much
rain spatters windshield
moistens dust of last night’s rain
but is not enough…
what we need is a torrent
a car wash from the heavens

tanka very much
rain spatters windshield
moistens dust of last night’s rain
but is not enough…
what we need is a torrent
a car wash from the heavens

November 2015 I answered an ad calling for restaurant workers at the airport; got a Cashier/Host gig at Matt’s Big breakfast in Terminal 4 right by Gate B5 at Phoenix Sky Harbor Int’l Airport; gave two weeks’ notice in September of 2022; had some glorious semi retirement adventures; reapplied for work with parent company SSP America after doing a three-week prep cook training course; was hired as a prep cook for the SSP Commissary in May of 2023; was tapped for tomato-slicing duty by Chef Adam that November. My main job since then has been running thousands of tomatoes through a manual hand-slicer with multiple parallel blades. Over two-plus years I have gotten to be good at it. It is not rocket science, but it does involve some choreography, especially when I start running out of tomatoes.
My good-humored co-workers call me “Mr. Tomato” or “Tomatoman” on occasion. That is fine with me. I strive to be the best Tomatoman I possibly can be. And to the other Tomatofolks out there, amateur or professional, I salute you. May your tomatoes ever be firm yet not underripe!!

When I was growing up our family library included books of fairy tales, and one of my favorites was The Wonder Clock by Howard Pyle. And my favorite of the twenty-four stories in that book was “How Boots Befooled the King.” The book is in the public domain now, and I urge interested parties to find it via Google Books or Project Gutenberg. It is lavishly illustrated in glorious detail by the author.
“How Boots Befooled the King” came to mind because tomorrow is April Fool’s Day, a day for practical jokes and pretense. It was once my favorite holiday. The challenge of coming up with believable fakery delighted me.
One memorable April Fool’s Day in the late 20th Century I called my mother and crestfallenly asked her if it would be OK if I stayed in her guest house a few days–domestic trouble at home; looks like a divorce is in the cards. She bought it hook, line and sinker, and was furious when I “April Fool!!”ed her, but also enormously relieved that it was a joke. (Alas, in 2004 or thereabouts it started to become obvious that the marriage wasn’t working out. We were growing apart. Eventually we agreed to stay together until our daughter had finished her education. The divorce was finalized on December 19, 2011.)
One prank I pulled right before an April Fool’s Day 5K footrace called the “Fools 5K” in the early 90s, which I and my running pal George had signed up for, happened just before the airhorn sounded to start the race. I looked George in the eye and said, “Hey, George, some advice. Whatever you do during this race…try your best not to think of the Jetson’s theme song.” Poor George was doomed to run every step of the three-miles-plus with the obnoxious “Meet George Jetson…” theme song looping in his head. In my defense, at least it was only a 5K and not a marathon. And I bought lunch after, to make up for my mischief.
My Sweetheart Donna had a younger brother, Scott, who was born on April Fool’s Day. “I teased him mercilessly on his birthday,” she says, calling him an April Fool and “Scott the Snot” and “Scott the Pot.” But she couldn’t fool him. “He was so much smarter than I was, or ever will be.” She loved him profoundly, and he loved her. Tragically, Donna lost Scott to the AIDS epidemic. She grieves, and always will.
I wonder if and how I will celebrate April Fool’s Day tomorrow. I feel too old and sober-sided to pull any shenanigans, especially in these harrowing times. Most likely I will do a search on “April Fool’s Day pranks” and vicariously enjoy other people’s japes. And I will definitely do a search for Norman Rockwell’s famous April Fool’s Day painting, wherein all kinds of crazy-impossible things happen, including birds flying upside down.
I hope you have an uplifting and good-foolish April Fool’s Day tomorrow, Friends. 🙂
the crowd size this weekend dwarfed everything ever
yet trump-sanctioned stations acknowledge it never
a cloud of unknowing with thugs on the make
produces a silence that’s in itself fake
..
see, dark money talks and it wheedles and whispers
and killers hide hemlock in dressers and crispers
pretense is their strategy silence the essence
with smothering heralding reich’s recrudescence

Life Is a Ping-Pong Paddle, and We Are the Ping-Pong Balls
Well, Life is a ping-pong paddle
And we are the ping-pong balls.
We may think we are tall in the saddle
But we’re slammed into tables and walls.
We are tossed into air and then batted and spun
We’ll be scuff’d and well-English’d before we are done
And it’s always a player, not us, who has won,
With Life as a ping-pong paddle
And Us as the ping-pong balls.
So it pays to be super-resilient
And to bounce back intact and unscathed,
To detach from the navel’s imbiliment
Fly freely and be karma-bathed,
For we keep all our innocence and our good name
Being blamelessly used without fortune nor fame
And without us there would not be even a game
Let alone the excitement that’s rife
With Balls giving meaning to Life.
see what happens
when you give him
everything he wants?
everything, it seems,
has turned out
not to be enough.
pillaging, manipulation,
murdering civilians,
raking in and breaking faith,
putting guns in hands of psychos,
telling lies for gits and shiggles,
bloodying the Constitution,
Caligula’s coagulant
inciting Armageddon.
the bugs do battle in our bodies
in savage stark ferocity
and we wash pills down with hot toddies
to give them reciprocity
and other liquidss are ingested
like flaxseed tea and orange juice
until the bugly throng is bested
and illness-train shows its caboose.
i say a prayer of avid thanks
and write this verse quick and informal
rejoin the unafflicted ranks
and sound huzzahs for being normal.

pull!
to the “no kings” protestors marching today
a tug of war
poor rope
a yank of arm
and ligament
..
it’s such a chore
to cope
with hurt and harm
and liniment
..
the midwife pulls the newborn
the hustler pulls the strings
the wool is pulled and new-shorn
we pull the brassy rings
..
we watch in stricken horror as
our missiles pull some kids
into oblivion and see
our country’s hit the skids
..
pull back pull down pull well away
and do not let the king to bray
of greatness in his lust for power
in what’s become our darkest hour
..
we march we speak we hold up signs
we pull our big girl pants up for
the no kings protest which defines
our over
lapping
tugs
of
war

Spring has sprung
And pollen has fallen.
All Spring I shall slog
With my nostrils a-clog.
😦

gazans are being brutalized starved and killed
the blasted land they are on coveted
their lives deemed discardable
..
in the sudan there is wasting
in iran new to y dug children’s graves
their lives ended by our department of war
but it’s not a war, the department says
and we are sending our youth there
after telling the nonenemy
no quarter
no mercy
..
our fleshlives are taken over by nonflesh agents
noticers who know what we like
and what our secret selves lust for
and how to lull us into addiction
..
the ocean is more watery
the heat is breaking records
the job market is a ticking time bomb
most of us being either too expensive or too many
..
there is plenty of good news though
minnesotans and canadians are heroes
the baseball season is under way
we’re going to the moon again
the hum of electric vehicles is ever more prevalent
and we are close to ousting one of the vilest humans
ever to attain power
..
and the best news of all: life persists and will persist
a mass extinction is in the works
but some will survive
and love and hope and gained wisdom will persist
however electronic
or quantum-mechanical
their forms may take
and you and i are here NOW, i sending
and you receiving
and that matters as much
as anything that has happened
or will happen
my fine, listening friend