A.G.E's Joint

  I was spending my morning doom scrolling Facebook. It's a bad habit and unproductive, I know. But it allows the time to pass while I drink my morning pot of coffee. I flip past a repost of a Garrison Keillor interview. I'd seen it before. It made fun of a church  I used to be affiliated with. The reason I'm no longer has more to do with internal politics than scripture. Down at the bottom was a post from a Faerie past who had moved on because of a specific faith issue. For no apparent reason, she reiterated her position in no uncertain terms. As I was debating whether to respond, my wife informed me it was time for her to go to work and the post drifted away into the timeline of doom. Ain't that a kick in the head. I've been thinking about it all day and it may have been sheer luck I was called away. My reply would have only furthered the break existing between us and better she stays in my past.  It's better than being called a turkey. 

A piece of cardboard Slipped into a folder As I walk up to the table Two older men smile and hand out glossies. Many years ago, they were on separate teams Each a star in their own right Locked in a race For the most home runs hit.that year I'm kind of nervous Would he sign this? And make  twelve-year-old me happy "Mr. Stargell?" The grin lights up the room "Willie." Holding out his hand "Would you sign my card?" He takes the card and shows the other man "Hey, Hank. You recognize this young man?" "You look good in that." He laughs Another guy in the crowd pulls out his card "What about us? Willie asks "Where have they all gone?" "We kind of got old," Hank replied Left them behind "You boys have made our day." They said as they gave us our cards back And the free glossies. We were happy.  Note-These are not my baseball cards. I sold my Stargell card not long after his death when a dealer gave me a d...

The late afternoon storm clouds his vision. Or is it the tears? Rainbow letters scatter in the fun-house mirror. June is for summer and fun, not gloom and mourning. A suitcase of memories overwhelm him as he turns into the parking lot. Tagging along with Mom and Dad on shopping trips. For some reason, the memory of going next door and adopting the cats floats up. Dad later ran over the one he picked out, but the other one lived he was old. He’s never forgotten that. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. Waiting for the store to open, it occurs to him. These are the last days of childhood. Whether he wants to or not, it’s time to grow up. Liquidation signs are a wiggle jig to a bass , drawing him closer and closer to the hook, to his doom. A couple of shrink-wrapped games for future trades, he told himself, to turn for a profit. It is a lie, of course. He only buys, never sells. The collection fills two rooms upstairs and is growing. He might have to get a storage bin before too l...

The picture sat on the desk mocking him from behind the screen. It was a simple thing, really, a sketch of an old cigarette ad. The vested sax player stared at him across time and space, playing some silent tune, a memory that was happily slumbering two hours ago. But it sprung out from the holiday decorations box and onto the floor. Honestly, he had thought the picture was lost two or three moves ago.  What does she look like now? A homely girl that everyone ignored, the only reason he even met her was passed out at a party that had already died. He would have been just as happy for her not to have woken up. But, no, his buddy threw his empties at her, and he had to open his mouth. So began the four year odyssey of drama and pain.  It was fun at first. Impulsive and spontaneous, she would chide him for public displays of affection and then pull him behind a car to have her way. Emotions more changeable than the weather and more powerful than the tides buff...

The walls are crumbling now,  Remains of the old gin. Built and burned Rebuilt and torn down. The shouts of the workers Echo over the dam. Echoes of rifle shots hang And the blood of soldiers Rest beneath my feet. It has been many years Since time stopped here, While life speeds on Just over the ridge. I sometimes wish to go back. To a slower place and time. Life was simpler And richer And more real Than the artificial world  we have now.