Imagined Roles

I've been seen standing shields and spears with the 300 Spartans in Thermopylae Pass...and as fate would have it, a defender of the Alamo fort. I was that additional member of The Magnificent Seven who rode to the rescue of the little Mexican village from Calvera's bandit army...or on another occasion, the former gunfighter drifter with a storied past who rises up against the ranchers bullying those farmers trying to settle the land. I've been on the beaches of Normandy, flying off carriers in the Pacific, and surrounded at the Battle of the Bulge...a returning war veteran finding his marriage unfaithful and the country that's largely forgotten its appreciation of the important role the soldiers played to preserve the American life. Like Rick,  alone in the backwash of Casablanca, found fulfillment in love once and again and finally, in sacrifice and service to a cause.  
A man must strive to take a stand in situations, thus he becomes heroic in part and purpose.

Drivin' Around

high school guys drive around...
up to the dairy queen for cheeseburger baskets and thick chocolate malts
go down streets where gorgeous girls at school live on
talk important teenage topics
air-conditioned (windows rolled down even in winter)
out to the edge of the lake on a sun day
stop at the park swings this cloudy late afternoon till evening
pull in for large size cherry slurpees at the local 7-eleven, "oh, thank heaven!"
turn up the radio real loud when a moving song comes on
honk at others drivin' around--especially if it's a group of girls
speed up the straight-a-way streets we know so well are safe and not policed
feel so free and easy and good to be young 
peel off the tires in our parents' car for the thrill 'cause we can (it's their rubber)
slow down some on our neighborhood streets to wave and smile at kids playing street side
go by the high school on saturdays for some reason?
drive thru jack-in-the-box after classes for cheap tacos and root beer
down endless streets, doesn't matter, nowhere to go, really, except to be...
drivin' around   

The Waiting Room

Fortunate for me, mine was the front bedroom of our house at 11511 Lanewood Circle. From my room there, I could look out upon the street and world I lived in then and only wait...wait. I often wondered why I waited, or if actually what I was waiting for was really worth it? I wondered: those winter nights when the frozen steel-framed windows sweated like a brow and pooled on the sill below; the summer nights, windows cranked open to capture a slight   breath of breeze...a measure of moonlight; some anxious school nights, dreading the next day's assessment or oral presentation; the weekends, worrying will she want to be with me like I long to be with her. As adolescents are, our rooms now the substitute security blankets we were forced to abandon as we grew older. They become that silent secret friend we can confide in, curse and cry in. Yet, my room always a welcomed refuge awaiting me with an embrace for my sorrows behind closed doors and turned-out lights, lying there alone whenever it was I felt defeated, discouraged, or disciplined. Waiting in my room for whatever I thought I might do, but never did because it wasn't true; what I hoped would be and soon became to me right and just as pure.   

le chat élégant



le chat élégant
pretty paws
discriminate purr
independence

le chat élégant
soft silky fur
raspy tongue
quite indignant

Out of Date

I sometimes believe that life has passed me by. I don't recognize (or readily accept) a lot of things now. I'm so used to the former ways of doing things, delight in those relics of the past, and don't really care to change. I like the things I like just the way they are and what I want them to be. I guess I'm out dated. 
Like I traditionally wear light-blue Oxford long-sleeve button-downed collar shirts with that little loop in back...splash on Brut cologne in the morning...carry a clean handkerchief in my pocket just in case...still play my warped King Crimson 8-Track tape over and over...insist on changing the oil in my car (with great difficulty reaching the filter impossibly placed behind the engine block)...try to select a soda in a glass bottle (now non-returnable) because they don't taste metallic or plastic...like wearing a fashionable tie to work and church and social gatherings, besides only at weddings and funerals...always turn up the radio when Steely Dan's "Reelin' in the Years" comes on the dial...prefer a Popsicle as my comfort ice cream of choice...pause to smile each sacred time I catch a glimpse of someone driving a Corvair Monza on the street...feel fishing  from the bank instead of out of a boat is more natural...am comfortable in my well-worn broken-in dress shoes and dread having to buy a new pair...or having to go to the dentist...long for a secret folded peanut butter and jelly sandwich late at night...like to build model airplanes and read old Archie and Sgt. Rock comic books...ride my retro bike with a speedometer and headlight and without a helmet, gloves, or Spandex pants...enjoy this time of the year getting a clever-rhyming Valentine or a pack of those Candy Hearts to share...where you reach in to get a surprise romantic saying like "Be Mine" and the one I like to draw that always reminds me, "U R Special."     

Same Old Stories...

If I could have the stories of my life back and all the time then that I once wasted. I'd only waste it once again, as I only can. I'd love to live what I wanted again and not do anything about it at all: always just a missed forget-to-say, neglect-to-do on my part. Same old stories...