The invitation has not changed;
in order not to be estranged
from our Father up above --
rid yourself of all but love.
Call it inner child or not,
miracles by it are wrought.
The invitation has not changed;
in order not to be estranged
from our Father up above --
rid yourself of all but love.
Call it inner child or not,
miracles by it are wrought.
The delivery guy took the refrigerator
out of the box and set it up in the kitchen
for us. Then he carted the old one away.
It looked great and ran so quiet --
not like our old clunker,
which rattled and dripped condensation
continuously onto the floor.
I put the big refrigerator box
in the spare bedroom --
because I thought it might come in handy
someday.
Those things are huge --
big enough to house a person, really.
****************************
It came on very slowly,
and we hardly noticed it for months,
my wife and I,
but finally we admitted to each other
that a chilling sadness had settled
into our home.
We both walked into the spare bedroom
and immediately knew it was the empty box.
The empty refrigerator box,
where no one was ever home,
which no children ever played in --
a thing with no purpose.
"Throw it away!" my wife pleaded.
But that didn't help much.
There remained a dead silence underneath
the carpeting that muffled our aspirations.
Until she bought a ficus plant for
the spare bedroom.
Then the sunlight that streamed
through the window motes
began to remind us of warmth.
Next I put up a bird feeder
in the backyard --
nothing but sparrows and squirrels
ever show up at it,
but their frantic chatter
stays a comfortable echo
during the blank nights.
Then in quick succession
we set up a fish tank,
learned to bake artisan bread together,
which we donated to the local Ronald McDonald House,
and acquired an aunt for the spare bedroom.
She is dotty and collects glass doorknobs,
like that character actor on Bewitched.
And our house began to blush and breathe again,
like a living thing.
We haven't taken the final step yet,
of having a child,
because children bring so many boxes
into your life.
And I'm not sure if Amy and I
can stand another empty box in the house again.
Maybe if we started small, with an empty
candy bar wrapper,
and worked our way up . . .
I fell through my own mind,
to land on my feet like a cat.
Dusting myself off, I proceeded
to take action without thought.
Was it instinct or habit
that caused me to knock
the top hat off the elderly
man I met on the road?
Either way, he thanked me kindly
for my action --
and I realized he was Buddha.
Then I hid my face and wept.
But he was gentle with my
immaturity,
saying: "The Original Sin
of our First Parents lay in
giving names to things --
for you can only desire what is named."
Later on at the shy lake
I pondered anew the relation
between pure thought
and pure action.
I used the Buddha's top hat
as my thinking cap on the shores
of the coy pond --
to conclude that there was
no conclusion. That I must be,
not think of being.
In quick order I:
blew my nose using my thumb
ate grass like Nebuchadnezzar
watched the sky remain blue
felt an ant crawling up my arm
observed the ice age
shook hands with myself
and let slip the banana peel of doubt.
Then was I at peace --
or so I thought until my lunch hour was up.
Back at the office I put on my mask,
sat at my desk,
and deleted emails.
Someone had left a half-eaten
pepperoni pizza in my trash can.
Then I hid my face and laughed.
Be true at all times and the Lord God will know
that your heart is solid and won't ring hollow.
Two faces are better than one only to
on black stringy crow double what you can chew!
They threw down their weapons of war,
those ancient and straighforward men.
Commanded to kill their own kin,
their orders ignored there and then.
And so scripture shows us that hate
and organized murder will cease
with covenants kept in resolve
to honor the true Prince of Peace.
I was invited to tour the shaving cream factory
because of my uncle.
May he rest in peace.
Those shaving cream factory
explosions are more common
than you might think.
Before our group arrived at the factory
we met up with a crowd of refugees
from El Salvador and Nicaragua.
They were held in a disorganized dusty camp
on the outskirts of town, where our
tour bus broke down.
The camp guards promised to fix
our bus; they invited us into the
compound for a shower and a hot meal.
But as we mingled with those unassuming refugees
we became more like them and they became
more like us, until there was no way
of telling us apart --
so the guards refused to
let any of us out. They drove the tour bus
off a cliff.
Using a pencil, a windshield wiper blade,
and a box of toothpicks, I eventually managed to
dig a tunnel under the barbed wire --
which led straight down to a vast underground
kingdom of geode worshipers.
We had no choice but to join them
in their unconventional religious ceremonies
until our paperwork went through.
The red tape took years,
and by the time it arrived
I had married a local girl, and we
were raising a family in the
geode faith.
I myself eventually came to believe
in the power of geodes.
So I decided to stay.
Now I watch my family grow
like chalcedony crystals
from the Mendip Hills.
Is it any wonder I love
the smell of shaving cream?
The invasion of the bowling balls
began on a quiet winter's evening
when the moon looked like the
face of Dean Martin.
People were snug in their warm homes,
choking on unpopped kernels of corn
and buttering slices of frozen pizza.
In the tropics, the tanna leaves bloomed.
World leaders were caught unawares.
With their pants down and their dander up.
Parliaments and congresses blithely played
tiddlywinks with slush funds and easy aces.
Even Barney Greengrass closed for repairs.
I myself was involved in a minor contretemps
with a professor of English, via email,
concerning the Oxford comma;
Citing irreconcilable differences,
we had both filed as amicus curiae.
Looking back, it all seems so footling now.
Then it happened.
The invasion.
And overnight everything changed.
The grass was no longer greener on the other side.
Scrabble was banned in Boston.
Anyone talking about the cinema
when they meant the movies was lynched.
And the Yucatan Peninsula declared for
Wilkes and Liberty.
At Christmas people hit each other
over the head with heavy reinforced
boxes of Whitman's Sampler.
And clowns went color blind.
But then, at the eleventh hour,
a person on horseback arrived
to save us in our skins.
He rallied the troops.
She never said die.
They kept the home fires burning.
And we all set sail together
to question the universe
about reverse mortgages.
Stocking stuffers this year should
be face masks -- then knock on wood
that a microbe gives wide berth
to your chimney: Peace on Earth!
Santa, bring me a remote
that will mute each silly quote
by a pundit this next year
making economics clear!
Russian hackers on the job
faster than a good flash mob
milk our agencies like kine --
while the admin lays supine.
In my jammies Christmas morn
I feel like I am reborn --
checkered flannel, fleecy hood;
bunny slippers from childhood.
Fashionistas, be advised
this new style is canonized!
Work-life balance is to me
merely triviality.
Loafing has been all my study;
work is for the fuddy duddy!
Burnout ain't an issue when
you live in a big playpen.
Sing redeeming love, my soul;
with heart and voice proclaim the whole
of creation His footstool --
and how He cares for me, a fool.
No earthly choir's anthem sweet
can with one note of Christ compete.