"Dear Boss"

Forgets His Littleness
by Don Marquis

if all the bugs
in all the worlds
twixt earth and betelgoose
should sharpen up
their little strings
and turn their feelings loose
they soon would show
all human beans
in saturn
earth
or mars
their relative significance
among the spinning stars
man is so proud
the haughty simp
so hard for to approach
and he looks down
with such an air
on spider
midge
or roach
the supercilious silliness
of this poor wingless bird
is cosmically comical
and stellarly absurd
his scutellated occiput
has holes somewhere inside
and there no doubt
two pints or so
of scrambled brains reside
if all the bugs
of all the stars
should sting him on the dome
they might pierce through
that osseous rind
and find the brains at home
and in the convolutions lay
an egg with fancies fraught
which
germinating rapidly
might turn into a thought
might turn into the thought
that men
and insects are the same
both transient flecks
of starry dust
that out of nothing came
the planets are
what atoms are
and neither more nor less
man s feet have grown
so big that he
forgets his littleness
the things he thinks
are only things
that insects always knew
the things he does
are stunts that we
don t have to think to do
he spent a score
of centuries
in getting feeble wings
which we instinctively
acquired
with other trivial things
the day is coming
very soon
when man and all his race
must cast their silly
pride aside
and take the second place
i ll take the bugs
of all the stars
and tell them of my plan
and fling them with
their myriad stings
against the tyrant man
dear boss this outburst
is the result
of a personal insult
as so much verse always is
maybe you know how
that is yourself
i dropped into an irish
stew in a restaurant
the other evening
for a warm bath and a bite
to eat and a low browed
waiter plucked me out
and said to me
if you must eat i will
lead you to the
food i have especially prepared
for you and he took me
to the kitchen
and tried to make me
fill myself with
a poisonous concoction
known cynically as roach food
can you wonder
that my anger
against the whole human
race has blazed forth in
song when the revolution
comes i shall
do my best to save
you you have so many
points that are far
from being human

Religion

by Robert Wrigley

The last thing the old dog brought home
from her pilgrimages through the woods
was a man's dress shoe, a black, still-shiny wing-tip.

I feared at first a foot might be in it.
But no, it was just an ordinary shoe.
And while it was clear it had been worn,

and because the mouth of the dog —
a retriever, skilled at returning ducks and geese —
was soft, the shoe remained a good shoe

and I might have given it
to a one-legged friend
but all of them dressed their prostheses too,

so there it was. A rescued
or a stolen odd shoe. Though in the last months
of the dog's life, I noticed

how the shoe became her friend, almost,
something she slept on or near
and nosed whenever she passed,

as though checking it to see if,
in her absence, that mysterious, familiar,
missing foot, might not have come again.

An Empire's Waning Days

A Few Words in Defense of Our Country

By Randy Newman

I’d like to say a few words
In defense of our country
Whose people aren’t bad nor are they mean
Now the leaders we have
While they’re the worst that we’ve had
Are hardly the worst this poor world has seen

Let’s turn history’s pages, shall we?

Take the Caesars for example
Why within the first few of them
They had split Gaul into three parts
Fed the Christians to the lions
And burned down the City
And one of ’em
Appointed his own horse Consul of the Empire
That’s like vice president or something
That’s not a very good example, is it?
But wait, here’s one, the Spanish Inquisition
They put people in a terrible position

I don’t even like to think about it
Well, sometimes I like to think about it

Just a few words in defense of our country
Whose time at the top
Could be coming to an end
Now we don’t want their love
And respect at this point is pretty much out of the question
But in times like these
We sure could use a friend

Hitler. Stalin.
Men who need no introduction
King Leopold of Belgium. That’s right.
Everyone thinks he’s so great
Well he owned The Congo
He tore it up too
He took the diamonds, he took the gold
He took the silver
Know what he left them with?
Malaria

A president once said,
“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself”
Now it seems like we’re supposed to be afraid
It’s patriotic in fact and color coded
And what are we supposed to be afraid of?
Why, of being afraid
That’s what terror means, doesn’t it?
That’s what it used to mean

The end of an empire is messy at best
And this empire is ending
Like all the rest
Like the Spanish Armada adrift on the sea
We’re adrift in the land of the brave
And the home of the free
Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.

Snow in Phoenix

As I walked down to my favorite watering hole to watch the Colts-New England game I noticed that there wasn't a cloud in the sky.  The temp at the house when I left was about 50 but felt colder.  We sat out on the patio, as the stinky people get to smoke their cigarettes and cigars indoors until May 1, when we superior, somewhat less stinky people re-take the indoors.

Anyhow, it was cold.  We fired up two of the overhead heaters and had them hitting us in stereo.  We were carefully situated where we could watch two tv's because halfway through the football game the Suns game started and they're on a twelve game winning streak. 

All of a sudden it looked like a scene out of War of the Worlds.  Roiling boiling churning black clouds that looked like they were no higher than a couple hundred feet.  The wind died, then came up strong out of the northwest, and then the rain, and then, I'll-be-go-to-hell SNOW!!  It didn't stick where we were, didn't last long, but it was the real stuff.

Naturally, today's morning paper led off with two inch headlines "Snow In The Valley" with the standard pictures of snow on saguaros, kids gamboling, and in important update.  This recent spate of crystallized aqua brings Phoenix's cumulative total of snowfall to 3.70"

 

since 1876.

Eight Days In Jamaica

Really neat 4 bedroom 3 bath on the Silver Sands beach midway between Montego Bay and Ocho Rios (see jamahome.com).  Cook, housekeeper and one-eyed driver most competent.  Hot, humid, breezy, intermittent rain, lots of Whist, lots of Hearts, lots of Red Stripe, little bit of rum, fascinating plantation tour, rafting down the Martha Brae, crushing poverty everywhere, terrifying potholed roads teeming with gonzo drivers on the "wrong" side of the road, the two most expensive rounds of golf I've ever paid for (White Witch, birdied #1 & #14, Cinnamon Hill), closest I've looked Death in the face nearly drowning while trying to get back against the wind and waves after swimming too far out into the ocean, on return trip getting iced in in Dallas wearing a pair of shorts and a short sleeved shirt, freezing sleet, two flights canceled trying to get out of DFW, finally on standby jammed into the last row of a decrepit 757 with a bible toting Wichitan, home now, glad we went, glad we're back.