a bucket of fried chicken

i know that fried

food

is the devil,

the cause for clogged

arteries

and heart attacks, but

i can't help

but long

for a bucket of chicken

sometimes.

dark meat,

spicy and crispy,

dripping with grease

as i hold

a leg in my hand.

that blinking sign

and the short

line at the drive-thru

is calling my name

like a sultry siren

as i drive by.

man's best friend

i think it's a myth

that a dog

is man's best friend.

that they are

loyal to a fault.

not true.

i think it's all about food.

who has

a juicy steak bone

in their hand

and who has none.

breaking down a fifty

i only have

a fifty-dollar bill

so i try to make

change

as the basket comes

around

my pew for

collection

i reach my hand in

to break

it down

to two twenties

and a ten,

but

the parishioners begin

to shout

and boo.

the priest comes up

the aisle

mad as a hornet,

asking me what's going

on.

i try to explain,

that i only have a fifty

and want

to leave just

ten.

he tells me to leave,

banishing me from the church

ever again.

some like war

some

like war,

for a variety

of reasons.

it's hard to disagree

with ending

evil, but

they cheer it on

as long as the war

doesn't

affect them too much,

causing

traffic

and the cost

of gas,

or milk to go up.

will our favorite show

be pre-empted

with the news

of the war when

a scroll at the bottom

of the screen

would suffice.

we prefer war to be

far away

in other countries

to be able

to turn off the tv

and go to sleep

with

the war

out of sight

and out of mind until

the next

day.

we'd rather not know

about

the dead and dying.

just tell us when it's over.

living large at the dentist office

as i

sit in the chair

at the dentist office

being nagged by

Julie,

the hygienist, about

flossing

i ask her if i really

need

another four hundred

dollars worth 

of x-rays.

i just want a cleaning.

after all i was just

in here

six months ago

and haven't

had one piece of candy

let alone

a syrup covered pancake.

i no longer drink 

cokes.

can't you cut

me a break this time?

no she says,

then runs into the other

room

after covering

me with a lead blanket

and clicks

the button.

but i get it.

i see nothing

but Mercedes

in the lot.

Bentleys, and BMW's

each

pulling a fancy new boat.

the best neighbor ever

the old

woman next door from

Hungary,

is planting flowers

in the yard,

part mine

part hers.

yesterday she brought

me over

a bowl of hot stew

she made.

she kneels now in

the soft dirt

and smiles in the sun

with her

old face

and hair pulled back,

the silver

falling down

and asks me if it's okay.

of course

i tell her

of course, and if you

have time

the back yard as well

awaits.

the human pina colada

after ten days

in Hawaii

she comes home tanned

and happy

with a flower

behind her ear

and smelling

like pineapples.

her face

is freckled from the sun

and her

hair is wild with the island

wind

and blonder.

she's a human pina

colada

now.

what to buy in the gift shop

i prefer

not to visit people in hospitals.

i always

feel like

i might catch something,

that there are deadly

microbes

floating around in the air.

everyone

is injured

or sick

and lying in enormous

beds

with tubes and wires

sticking

out of them.

machines are clicking

furiously

as bored and apathetic

nurses

and doctors

rush about,

looking at their watches

hoping

to get off soon.

i stand in the gift shop

and look

around at what piece

of junk

i can buy to carry up to

the person i'm visiting.

flowers are so 

unoriginal,

maybe

this porcelain cow, or this

coffee cup

with a smiley face

on it,

or maybe a book about

the afterlife.

i prefer not to visit people

in hospitals,

and worse yet, are funerals.

can you post a photo please?

i see

in the Neighborhood Next Door

notification

that someone

has reported

rats

in their back yard.

rats.

not mice, or

stray cats,

not squirrels or racoons,

not chipmunks,

but rats.

i haven't seen a rat

since

i left New York City

and got

off the subway

and saw one eating a slice

of pizza

as he read

the newspaper on a bench.

i'd like to see

a picture of this so called

rat.

the horizontal hold

is it time

for a new tv. it's only been

ten

years

since i bought the last one,

but i see

in the ads

that the newer ones

are better.

clearer,

cleaner, more pixels or some

such thing.

crystals?

the colors are brighter,

more real

than real,

it will almost feel as

if you can

put your hand into the screen

and touch

someone,

even if you're watching

perpetual nonsense

and junk,

or should i wait until

next year

when they're even better?

we've come

so far from the black and white,

the rabbit

ears

with tin foil,

no remote, begging your

little sister to bang

on the side

to stop the roll,

and to change the channel

to the right.

the progressive left

the word

police are out there,

the culture

police,

the thought police,

they are watching,

listening

taking notes

of what you say

and think.

you've been reported.

they're coming

to get you.

how dare you spread

misinformation

and not

march in lock step

like lemmings to 

the cliff.

we need to banish

you,

delete you.

extinguish the rational

brain

in your head.

think like us, or

you're dead.

no later than nine

i don't use

the alarm clock anymore.

what's the point.

i have no bus

to catch,

no train, no office

to get to.

in fact

i can't remember

the last time i set it

in order

to get up on time.

it could have been a wedding

at the courthouse,

someone else's

or mine,

or a doctor's visit.

but now,

i just tell myself,

around 8 would be nice,

but no later

than nine.

beast of burden

i didn't walk

the dog,

he walked me,

he had no idea what

a straight line was,

the sidewalk meant

nothing to him.

it was all water,

as if he was a small

boat adrift.

the street was no different

than the dirt path.

he barked at everyone

for no reason.

planes in the sky drew

his attention.

there wasn't anything

that he wouldn't

put in his mouth,

lick or try to take home.

a dead bird,

a rock,

an old bone.

he'd bite through

the leather leashes

until i got

the thick chain ones,

which i'd secure

to his rhinestone

collar.

he was a beast.

crickets chirping

we avoid

talking politics these days,

or religion,

or the war,

or protests, or marches.

we don't say

a word

about vaccines

or nutrition,

we keep our traps shut

about

things we hear on

the news.

instead we sit on the porch

and swing

quietly.

we're mute.

the conflict within

i find

you sitting on the front

stoop

smoking

a cigarette, doing

yoga,

stretching

your limbs as you

face the morning sun,

you're

drinking a mimosa

and eating

a glazed

donut.

you are chanting

something,

your latest mantra,

i suppose.

adjusting your chakras.

you wait for me

to wake up

and come outside.

i see the conflict in you,

but say nothing.

it's in me too.

the enormous pink ham

as

i stare at the enormous

pink ham

resting

on the shelf

laced

with pineapple,

with only two slices

gone,

i realize the error

of my ways.

too much.

too much.

it's always been this

way.

the egg hunt

the Easter egg hunt

reveals

much about a child

and how

he or she

may turn out.

the aggressive ones,

running wild,

swinging their arms

at bushes,

turning over

rocks

and boards, digging

behind

the shed,

climbing trees

as they yell.

there are those children,

and then

the other ones.

a quiet few,

carefully

bending over to find

a single egg,

hidden between

tall blades of grass,

dyed blue.

they'll be moving soon

they'll be moving soon.

slowly

they are decluttering and selecting

a white

paint to cover

the walls

and

the door frame where

pencil marks

have noted the height

of each child.

27 years

went by like that.

the tree they planted has

grown tall

and shades

the window now.

the kids

are gone.

the stones in the yard

mark the passing

of each dog.

they'll be moving soon.

the truck will pull

up

and they'll be gone.

fly me to the moon

i'm writing this from the space

capsule

heading to the moon.

i've managed

to sneak onboard

and hide under some packed

re-entry parachutes.

unfortunately, they found

me out

after i clogged up the toilet.

my advice is to never

eat Ethiopian food before

a long trip into space.

anyway.

the crew has accepted me on

board,

i mean, what choice did they have?

i've been instructed

to not touch any of the blinking

lights and switches.

they are also keeping me

away from the door

that says Escape Hatch,

as i float around,

arms akimbo, like a monkey.

thankfully i found an extra

spacesuit in the cupboard

next to the Tang and beef

jerky. apparently

one size fits all.

we're getting to know a lot

about each other,

deodorant and breath mints are

helpful,

reminding me of summer

camp when i was young.

they told me i could document

each day,

and report to my podcast followers

our exciting journey

as long as i don't keep pointing

out the window

and yelling, oh my God,

look at that.

WTF!

i have to admit it's a little

tight in here,

right now there's a giant

space boot

resting on the side of my neck

and someone's elbow

is in my ribcage.

i'm hoping to get a window

seat later when everyone

falls asleep. i slipped a little

Ambien into their Earl Grey

Tea.

ah, those fearful early years

as a teenager,

while 'dating',

your

main

dating concerns,

other than a few bucks

to go to the drive-in

movie theater,

revolved

around pregnancy

and disease

of which you wanted

nothing to do with.

you had no doctor

to speak of,

unless you count

the Free Clinic on M

Street

in Georgetown,

and little money

to raise

a child,

which would be difficult

to say

the least

living in your mother's

basement at

the time.

often it was a game

of Russian

Roulette,

which for the most

part you often

won.