Lord of the Fries

Yellow swords dipped in blood.

Commodity draws the young close

and salts their edgy words.

No potato famine.

Just processed potentates

raising voices.

Used to be the pub

where commoners draw


Now it is fountain drinks

and talks of Ja Ja Binks.

Thoughts pressed between

finger and thumb.

Pushed against check and gum.

A pile of pick-up sticks

like wood on a bon fire.

No teen is an island.

No poetry protection.

Say what you say

until the fry in the bottom

is pulled from peer pressure.

Monday Morning Muse: Four Way Stops and Old Man Thoughts.

Monday morning sometimes is like a filled four way stop. There is hesitation, balking, and questions. Who was here first? You wave to the other driver. You move your mouth through the windshield and three others stare. You try to read their lips and interpret their hand motions. Ugh.

I was in my big brown truck at a four way stop a few days ago. Rolling up and then through without as much as a neck tweak, an older man slipped through. His mouth was hanging open like my best friends dad did when he read the newspaper. The driver slouched with his hands at ten and two draped over the wheel. I wondered what was going through his mind. I know what went through mine.

One day, God willing, I will most likely drive around with my mouth open. I will read with my mouth open. Words won’t come out of the gaping hole, just breaths. My tongue will dry out and I won’t care. If I make it to seventy or eighty I might not have much to say. Four way stops won’t hold my attention. I will simply be thankful for motion. My thoughts will escape through the gape but not in words. Thoughts will depart from lungs of longing and I will inhale the sensory wonder that is this world. I will stay between the lines in anticipation of crossing them. I will be pulled over them eventually into the awe of road less motion. Heaven, just over the shoulder, will most likely cause my mouth to shut and I will come to a complete stop.