Poem of the Day (7/29/21)

From brother Dennis:

WHITE ELEPHANT

When I saw it in the front yard,
I wondered who was responsible.
The neighbor who complains,
When I park in front of his house?
My brother, to whom I’ve owned money,
For many years?
Unknown persons who want to cause trouble,
Just because they can?

Should I give it something to eat?
Should I give it some water?
Before I could decide,
It had eaten half the leaves off
The privet hedge and jacaranda tree,
And trampled the bromeliads
And left a hairy deposit of dung,
In the middle of the sidewalk.

I wondered if it was really white,
Or if someone had painted it.
(people do that, you know)
It seemed neither friendly nor unfriendly,
But I wasn’t ready to get too close.
Discretion, as Falstaff wisely knew,
Is the better part of valor.

I called Animal Control, and described the situation;
The person told me that they deal with animals,
Dogs and cats and such, not personal problems.
I called the city Zoo and the person asked me
If I had been drinking, or taking drugs.
Was that any of their business?
As a last resort, I called the Police,
And the person told me that it didn’t sound
Like a crime had been committed.
They advised me to call Animal Control.

I called Animal Control, and described the situation;
The person told me that they deal with animals,
Dogs and cats and such, not personal problems.
I called the city Zoo and the person asked me
If I had been drinking, or taking drugs.
Was that any of their business?
As a last resort, I called the Police,
And the person told me that it didn’t sound
Like a crime had been committed.
They advised me to call Animal Control.

By that time it had eaten the succulents and cactus.
And was poking around for more–
What would be next?
I got a head of cabbage from the refrigerator,
And tossed it out into the yard–a distraction!
I sneaked around it to open the gate,
Then sneaked back and sat at the window watching,
Waiting for it to leave. Finally it did.
Where did it go? I don’t know.

It’s somebody else’s problem now.

– Dennis Hathaway

UPDATE 7/30/21: I got in touch with Dennis and demanded photographic evidence.  He sent this along:

 

Poem of the Day

THE PAST, EXPLAINED

What is the past?
A vast speckled darkness
Where points of light beckon,
Or cry, stay away!

What is the past?
Is it alive, its breath
The fricatives of our dreams?
Or is it dead,
A chamber filled with the bones
And artifacts of faded
Hopes and ambitions?

Is the past a funhouse mirror,
Where space is warped the way
Einstein said it would be?
We should have believed him,
Instead of mistaking sycophancy
For wisdom, bobbing our heads
To the tunes of liars and despots.

The past is the guest
who has overstayed their welcome.
The past is an invasive plant,
Growing where it isn’t wanted,
Impossible to eradicate.
The past is a child,
Who never stops seeking attention.
The past is everywhere, yet hidden,
By the clouds of illusion,
That allow us to say,
I was there,
I did that,
I am who I think I am
Even if I may be
badly mistaken.

         — Dennis Hathaway 6/26/2021

Poem of the Day (by Dennis)

MISSING PERSON

I went looking for myself
In all the usual places,
The bedroom, the kitchen,
The garage, the front porch,
That corner of the living room,
With the ragged chair and tarnished lamp,
Where I read a book or just sit,
And think about things that
May or may not matter.
Who can tell?

I called my name but got no answer,
I looked for clues–a dropped sock,
A toothpaste tube uncapped,
A coffee spill on the counter,
A magazine open to an article
About blind people who believe
They can see. You might say they’re crazy
But it makes perfect sense to me.
What is any belief, but atoms
Racing willy-nilly through the
Snarls of the mind?

I dialed a number for the police department.
But there was an invisible crowd in front of me,
Willing to wait hours to complain
Of noisy neighbors, of stolen bicycles,
Of dogs and cats acting suspiciously.
I decided to hang up and call 911.
Wasn’t my missing state an emergency?
I imagined the conversation.
Was this missing person kidnapped?
Do you have reason to believe this person is
In imminent danger? The tone unkind,
Even hostile, making me feel bad
For the rest of the day, perhaps longer.

I decided to go in person.
There was a counter and a woman
In uniform who looked bored or indifferent
Or both. I told her I wanted to report a missing person,
And she gave me that look that police give you,
Making you want to blurt out a confession,
Whether you’ve done anything or not.
She took her time finding a form
And a pen. She arranged them in front of her.
Your name? she asked.

Why did she need to know that?
But I was trained to obey authority,
And I told her, along with my address and telephone number,
Facts that could used against me,
Although I didn’t know exactly how.

The name of the missing person? she asked.
I told her, and she started to write then stopped.
That’s the same name, she said.
I agreed. She said, you and this missing person
Have the same name?
Yes, I said, I’m the missing person.
I could tell from her expression
That she was trying very hard
To mentally process the situation
That had developed, no doubt unexpectedly,
Relieving her boredom, transcending the typical
Idiocy and depravity.

I waited for her to tell me to go away,
Or threaten to arrest me on some charge,
Related to wasting a law enforcement officer’s time.
But she didn’t. She studied her form, then asked,
How long have you been missing?

         — Dennis Hathaway 6/17/2021

Coronavirus Diary: April 2, 2021

Jack

Ran into Jack while walking to my downtown studio, and was delayed for about an hour after he invited me into his garage — where I counted four (!) motorcycles, including an old (they were produced in the first half of the 20th century) Indian (!!) — and a nearly-pristine Ford Model T.  Then we went into his house and inspected his early 40’s Indian, another one, that had been a racer in its lifetime.  Complete with provenance.

BTW, you have met Jack before here and here.


The Issue of Dogs

Pandemic Puzzles

One way we cope