when they write their victim story

when i wake

up

in a haze from the anesthesia,

i see my

children,

my estranged and angry

children

gathered around me

waving my will in their hands,

their names

not on it.

they seem to be

still holding grudges

about some

Christmas

gift they didn't receive

when they were ten.

or when i told them

to move out

and get a job at 36,

or advised them not to

drink and drive

anymore.

all of them look

saddened

that their prayers

weren't answered.

vote early, and often

i make

a list of all the people i have

known and loved

throughout the years

that have passed on,

then go

down to the voting booth

to vote,

taking the list with me.

thankfully

no ID's are necessary anymore.

i black out the circle

of the candidates

that i think they

would vote for

then circle out the door

and get back in line, voting

again and again

until the list

is done.

strangely they all agree

with me

right down the line.

30 ounces, not 15

because

the fat can of pumpkin puree

says

30 ounces,

not 15, i have to make

two large

pumpkin pies, not one,

as was the plan.

i really should read the labels.

so there they sit

on the coffee table

beside the can

of whipped cream,

and me

with a fork and knife,

an empty glass,

and a gallon

of cold milk,

ready to get into it.

the shedding of leaves

i've turned over more

new leaves

than that oak

tree outside my window

shedding it's

summer foliage in multiple

shades of orange

and red.

but this time i mean it,

i really mean it,

i put my hand

on the Gideon's Bible

and swear that

this time, no lie,

i'm on the straight and narrow

path.

free wi-fi and a continental breakfast

you check into the roadside

motel,

after telling

your wife

that you have to leave

for the night.

you can't take it anymore.

you set your one

bag down.

then sit on the bed.

it's hard.

the pillows are hard

as well.

you can hear

the tv

on in the room beside you.

the laughter

of a game

show.

everything smells

like a cigarette.

there's a picture on the wall

above the dresser

of a blue stream

with a deer

looking out, staring in

your direction,

as if about to be shot.

tomorrow, you'll go home

again.

and at last,

one way or the other,

try to figure things out.

the second act

the actor,

or musician spends

so much

of his life

becoming famous

and rich,

his face is everywhere

you turn,

he's on tv,

in the movies,

there he is at a ballgame

throwing

the first pitch out.

and then he spends the rest

of his life

in hiding,

under guard and

pulling the shades down

behind the iron gates.

he tries

to disappear,

that is

until the money runs out.

duck with plum sauce

my grandmother,

on my father's side,

New England bred, was

poor, but

you wouldn't know it

by her long

manicured nails

and fur coat.

the necklace

and rhinestones she wore.

she loved Liberace

and his candelabras,

and once in the smallest

of New York diners,

as we sat wide eyed

beside her,

eating eggs

and cereal,

she ordered duck

with plum sauce,

and a Cabernet 

from the cellar.

there is no island to escape to

it's hard

to keep the world out

and

away

from you.

it bleeds in eventually.

the paper,

the tv,

your phone,

a nosy neighbor asking

if you've seen

the latest

tragedy on Fox or CNN.

politics

and gore.

sometimes

you look out the window

from the second floor

and see the smoke

rising,

the fire in the distance

and hear

the sirens.

sometimes it's just

the dog howling.

he seems

to know.

preparing for winter

there

are different preparations

for winter now

than

there were years ago.

when we salted

meat,

and canned

vegetables and fruit.

there was a root cellar

where

we stored

carrots and beets, 

turnips

and potatoes.

there was a need to patch

the roof

where the wind

came in,

the windows sealed

to keep

out the drafts.

the chimney needed

tending to.

parging the gaps,

and always there was

the chopping of wood,

hoping

that it would

last.

now,

it's turning off the outside

water

spigot and

we're through.