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hey Gramps–how do birds fly?

well, watch em, Tim. they flap their wings, and when they do, they grab some air and push it down, so they go up.

okay, then, how do planes fly? their wings don’t flap…

Tim, the planes have wings that are curved on the top side and flat underneath. so the air over the wing, when the plane is going fast, goes faster than the air underneath. but it’s the same amount of air, just stretched, and so the air pressure above the wing is less, so the plane is sucked upward.

then how do rockets fly? they don’t have any wings at all.

you ask good questions, kid. well, rockets have these little rooms called fuel chambers. and the stuff in the chambers is lit up and when it burns it expands and goes out these things called thrusters and the tops of the chambers get pushed hard, just like if you pooted hard enough it would lift you out of the chair.

(Gramps and Tim giggle and then laugh)

(They hear the yelling of Tim’s parents having an argument on the other side of the house and they stop laughing)

Gramps, Mama is talking about leaving Daddy.

i know, son. (Gramps puts an arm around Tim)

why do they fight all the time?

well, Tim, i don’t know for sure, but i think part of it is your dad has a mean boss and then when he comes home from work he takes it out on your mom. and your mom wants to get out more and do.more with her life but your dad doesn’t want her to. so it’s a lot like that rocket and that plane and that bird. A lot of pushing and pulling. a lot of…

pressure?

yeah, Tim. smart grandson i have here.

(pause)

hey, Grandpa, you okay?

while I wait for the 3:58
am bus
two souls
who have made of the bus stop
a campsite
sleep unsnoringly
in the cool predawn

one looks like a ghost
after a grueling halloween gig
one looks like a shopper
with a cartful of artifacts

the bus pulls up and i get on
i get on with my steady-jobbed life
but i realize that i am camping too
on a different designated area
of campsite earth

and that we only decamp
when we die

i make my home in metropolitan phoenix, arizona/also known as the valley of the sun

one day i flew home from boulder, colorado,/which was lush and green/and it struck me that by comparison/phoenix was like the bottom of an ashtray

you will find green on some golf courses/and some lushly maintained gated communities/but the mountains trap the pollution in a sprawling shallow bowl/and a hike up piestewa peak will reveal/the thin soup we breathe

i love my valley anyway/and my own hair has turned quite gray/and it does not make me too blue/to think that I’m an ashtray too

“Just think,” thought some Chinese person,/Many bloody centuries ago,/”Put this dust in a tube and ignite it/And away a slug of metal will go.”

Now, I don’t think there is an actual designated region/Anywhere but in the human imagination/That human souls reside for eternity/In torment for their misdeeds,

But even if there were/I don’t think the mere imagining of the principal use of Gunpowder/Would earn that Chinese soul a ticket/To such a place.

But the driving force of human survival/Demands that once an idea is out there/That is novel and useful*/It WILL be run up the flagpole/To see who salutes it.

One of the mysteries of the Universe/Is some undetectable stuff called dark matter/That we KNOW is there/But only inferentially/Because the Universe could not exist/Without at least six times as much mass/As we can detect/According to some of us who add their imaginations/To their knowledge of mathematics/And physical law.

Imagine what would happen if we had access to that stuff?/SCARY!!!

A long time ago a man invited us to imagine/That there was neither Heaven nor Hell.

He was trying to push us toward peace and unselfishness.

But some of us seem to need angels

And devils.

****

*Since Useful means at core “full of use[s], putting something to BAD use still counts, alas.

between acquaintance and friend is a variable ravine

and in my part of the land greetings are clues with “hi. how are you?” standard for an acquaintance and “hey, how’s it goin?” a little more friendly and “billy! whatcha up to?” very likely friend to friend

you are most of the time “fine, thanks. how are you?” with acquaintances

but most of the time no matter the degree of intimacy you tend to avoid unburdening of issues and troubles

a true and caring friend will sense that you are troubled and know you well enough to try to draw you out if that is the best thing for you

so…how are you,

my friend?

When I was a kid I noticed something about people who called me Dear

It seemed that the older a person was, the more likely they were to call me Dear and not Gary

(Young Man came in second)

Then I grew up and Dear mostly disappeared except for my grandmother and my Aunt Peg and sometimes Mom would write me and start the letter Dear Heart

And now I have grown old and Dear has crept into my own vocabulary

I call a lot of people at work Dear now which seems so natural because they are dear to me and yet sometimes I forget their name

And on social media I call some of my dear friends Dear Abbie or Dear Alice or Dear Jack

There once was an actor named Peter Ustinov who took Dear to the limit by entitling his 1977 autobiography Dear Me

The curious may find a 42-page excerpt on Google Books

Tell them your creepy friend Gary sent you, Dear

When a skier catches an edge/Sheorhetumbles/And the ice that made the edge is sliced

When a voice has an edge/The speaker wants the authority/That comes with a threat

Look at the edge of a well-sharpened knife/Under magnification/And you will see tiny teeth/Quite close together

The word Edge itself/May put you on edge/increasingly with case:

edge

Edge

EDGE

But on a cold night/With blanket too light/Don’t you love it/When your lover

e

d

g

e

s

Closer to you?

you can take sky with you/if you design your spacefaring vessel properly

there’s an expensive way involving a comet core/and a transparent encasing dome/and a huge volume of a mixture of gases

there’s a cheap cheating way/involving LEDs on interior surfaces

and then there’s the loophole/technicality way

and that where when you find your hospitable planet/you simply release some of the air/you brought from you home planet/into the new planet’s atmosphere/and it becomes part of the sky

a dollop of ice cream atop cherry cobbler/a wallop of frost on a jello-y wobbler/a trollop of hotfudgy sundae on tues/are treasures of taste you will not ever lose

a morsel of yolk-soaking sourdough toast/ensorcells the tenderfoot tongue that’s engrossed/endorsing the virtue of taste combinations/full measures of bliss in some well-blent sensations

scorn not epicureans shut-eyed with savor/corn hot dripping butter transports them with favor/pornographied food has transportative flavor/for Pleasures and Freedom are what we are brave for

a long time ago i was a ten-year-old kid and i was going to new york with my family in a t w a airplane and we were going to spend a few days on the island of manhattan

and i had a next-door neighbor friend named david hilyard or it might have been hillyard and we hung out together a lot and i told him about the trip and in a combination of bigshot-itis and a genuine wish to somehow have him enjoy the trip too i told him i would buy him a souvenir

next thing you know there i was at the u n building which looked like a giant glassy cereal box and in the gift shop they had a ballpoint pen with the u n insignia on it

and i bought it for david but here’s the thing i never gave it to him

and in fact i avoided him all the way up to when he and his family moved away

and though i don’t know exactly why i betrayed him that way I do know it wasn’t because i wanted to keep the pen

my guess is i was messed up psychologically and there was a weird mental membrane blocking me and not only did i betray david but also the self i could have been had i more gumption

so I now unburden myself s little by saying i’m sorry not only to david wherever he is

but to little gary as well