Serfs of Walmart

The drudgery of the day
brought me here,
a parking lot
in the rain,
where good people
and bad
congregate to commune,
vend, consume and rest
before returning to lives
brought under
by commonality and normalcy.
Here, for a moment,
we can feel better about ourselves
because of the car we drive
compared to the guy who
pulled in next to us.
We can judge the clothes
or shoes of others
to build our pedestal.
Their cheap hair cut
primps the cushion
of our throne
and how they speak or behave
creates a twisted ladder
for us to climb to the top
of our tower to sit
in judgment.
For a few minutes
we are the king or queen
of our realm.
But when we start our car engine
and pull out
back to our life
we are us again;
errands, problems,
tension, worries;
our tower crumbles,
throne cleaved in two.
We are them and
they are us,
the kingdom laid bare.

-- Christopher Hivner 

Chicago

The plane put me down
on the fret
of a finely tuned
Stratocaster
and the blues rose
through every nerve in my body.
The ‘L’
carried me the length of the neck
changing chords
until Muddy Waters
ran through my veins.

The streets welcomed me
in AAB rhythm.
Yes, I said the Chicago streets welcomed me
in AAB rhythm
just like I knew they would.
When night fell,
the doors
of Blue Chicago
opened wide
and I walked into the sound
of Willie Kent and the Gents,
a bass beat rumbling
up through the soles of my feet
while guitar notes squealed
for me to feel their pain
and then roared for me
to understand their redemption.

Days spent with friends
on the streets
of Chicago
walking in the rain,
sharing deep dish
and wishes,
seeing all the city
will allow
in a short time.
Goodbyes echo
between the buildings
rattling like bones
in the tightening air.
The final notes
are played,
progressing in sweet descent
until I touch down
back home
on the coast.

-- Christopher Hivner

My Captain

for Skip

The ink stained my hands
as I held the newspaper
reading your obituary.
Where had you been
for all these years
now gone?
Where had I been
when we could have connected?
I'll take my share of the blame and regret
and bury it
under my skin
so I can't forget.
We loved each other
but didn't  know one another,
the essence of family,
even closeness
has its fears.
I wish I still had
what you gave me
when I was three feet high.
I wish I had given you something
in return,
but we have the same blood
and I can't lose that.
When my boat sails
you will be the captain.

-- Christopher Hivner

Living in a Two-Word World

Last Monday,
I lived life with powerful chaos

On Tuesday,
I tried ridiculous insouciance

Wednesday was
my attempt at paramount freedom

In desperation, Thursday
became a vague acclamation of possibly attempting to live
life with an undercurrent of a supreme out-of-control
kind of thingy. Sort of. It's hard to explain.

Friday,
majestic exuberance? Forget it.

Saturday morning
I lapsed into a weak noble enthusiasm

but finally, on Sunday,
I got it right, and existed in a state of pure sublime abandon

-- Christopher Hivner 

Cake Walk

Winter,
Mom Nature pulls out her
Big trowel
Slathers the Earth with snow
Like frosting on a big fat cake
Smoothing over all
One might otherwise notice
Before you tripped over it

Snowshoeing is a cake walk
Like walking on a giant cake
Beneath the frosting
A cracked and cratered disaster

Each step an adventure
Your snowshoe might sink  
A few inches or a couple of feet

Life is like a cake, too
With M&M’s, chocolate chips
And buckshot thrown into the mix

One bite you taste something sweet
Next bite you break a tooth
Another one of Mom’s
Gentle lessons  

-- Tom Rubenoff

Big Walleye for Emma

Never a man to dawdle
Gramps got around,
he reminded his Emma,
until gout told his foot
to marry his ottoman.

So he paid for a cab
to visit Doc Morton,
a man he hated to see,
then stayed off his foot
for another two weeks.

Neighbors came over
and Sally next door
brought a big apple pie
and a case of the flu.
Gramps sampled both.

In a matter of days
he developed pneumonia,
went to the hospital,
faded away after
telling his widow-to-be

no reason at all to worry.
He just had a bit of the flu.
Come summer, he’d catch
a mess of big walleye
only his Emma could fry.

-- Donal Mahoney

Bell and Star

Let me be a star
and shine in places
darkness dwells or

let me be a bell
and ring in places
silence knells or

let me show the way
I plan to travel while
we wait together

for the final call.
What else to do but
pray with all of you.

-- Donal Mahoney

that’s life

some of us have
seconds, minutes
hours, days
weeks, months

others years
to figure out
what the hell
life's about

but so few do
for heaven’s sake
consider me
how about you

-- Donal Mahoney

Income Equality

Wilbur’s always lived
in the navel of society,
lost in the lint
of the middle class.

His parents lived there too.
So will his children if they
fail to win the lottery.
Not a problem for Wilbur.

From his navel he can
see the poor sweat
at jobs they died for.
When he looks up

he can see the rich bet
on stocks and then relax
with wine and caviar.
That's the way the world works.

Wilbur's father told him
it’s always been that way
and always will be.
And like his father

Wilbur knows the world
will always have its Castros
wanting to parcel out
what Donald Trump has.

No wonder, Wilbur says.
Income equality can’t reign
until the world ends or
pygmies play in the NBA.

-- Donal Mahoney

It’s Home

The city sits under
Cotton candy clouds;
Not a soul in sight
In this once industrial town;
This former steel mill mecca
Of smokestacks, fat bellies,
Beer and shot bars,
Roman Catholic churches,
Good timing, fast talking,
And glorious great times
Because cash was flowing
Like the old Mahoning.

But now it’s changed:
Rundown-welfare hades
Of never-ever dreams
Pollute everything,
Everyone, everywhere.
- It’s seen better days.
- This rusty old city.

Night falls. The neon tracks
Of the biker bar on the corner
Blink on and off, on and off,
Like a tattooed siren offering
Everything to the dusk.
She sings as the railroad tracks
In back corrode from dereliction,
The wood ties rot from neglect.
"Take me, take me, and all that rust,
All that stinking rot will
Be gone with the night.
All that blight will be covered
By the darkness of darkness,”
This siren ever-so-sweetly calls.

-- Samuel Vargo

It’s afternoon, again,

Another purgatory of beer,
Gin, just choose your poison.
A telephone wire
Hangs in balance
Of time and space
While crows and blackbirds
Perch like black lace
On blacker leather.
They’re feathered harbingers all
Of the tough satisfactions,
The wants of this ghost town.
Those birds don’t give a caw!
To river-to-rail iron ore,
Commerce, coke, or
Integrated steel mills.
They don’t know anything –
No, nothing at all -
They’re like us, waiting
For some sign in the sky,
Or an easy way to glide
Them through the day.

-- Samuel Vargo

6 at Joey D's Donut Shoppe:

&  
I'm
Bent over black coffee
At the long counter;
Sweet crisp dough
Displayed in glass cases
All so presentably;
Generic cigarettes in a green menthol pack
Crumbled and crushed on the counter
Nearby & the a.m. edition in the newspaper rack -
Serve to make the morning all too real.

Someday
I'll chase hemispheres
& watch them run; I’ll
Leave this citified life here
& buy a house in the burbs
Or in the country, maybe.
Yes, all this urban strife
I suffer day-in, day-out,
Associated with being afraid
Of the mailman, the landlord
And the man on the corner
Will leave and I’ll be there,
Not here, at Joey D.’s
On the near West Side
As the rest of the city slumbers.

So I wait for the sunrise
Like 7 thousand mornings before,
Right here at Joey D.’s & I want to see the sun rise
Over the near west side. . . .
An old man in an old, tweed suit,
                talks about an Italian lady
                he knew in the Second World War;
A paranoid pariah using Joey D's
               coffee and sugar as narcotics;
& an oatmeal-honey-brown girl
               shivering in the corner booth –
They’re all here. My humanity, my family.
The marquis blinks on & off, on & off –
Donuts with holes inside. The sign
Dims with the breaking dawn in glowing
                blue, yellow & green ovals.

-- Samuel Vargo

Contempt Prior to Investigation

The old fat men
Sit alongside
Their skinny old
Wives as the carnival
Passes through town
On its way to the train
And the next town
Down the tracks.
They missed it again,
The carnival, that is:
The clowns, elephants,
Fat ladies, tattooed men,
Lions, tigers, zebras;
A trust of magic
(And tent strippers,
Ooh-la-la, oh-my-my).
                       Just like
They missed fireworks
On the Fourth of July,
They missed Christmas
This year and last, and
Labor Day, what’s that?
Nobody works here, anyhow!
Nobody missed Hanukah
Because nobody is Jewish.
         No, nobody
At all. The only thing watched
Regularly: the moon
As it changes from
A sliver to a full circle.

They complain
There's nothing to do
In this town, but
Tonight the moon's
Full and it's
A well-known fact
There are ghouls,
Werewolves, ogres
& vampires living
        in town.
This place is haunted,
Yes, it’s as haunted
                   as hell.
And all, everyone,
Celebrates Halloween
In the fall. These old
Fat men and their
Skinny old wives
Look to the moon
For ways to be
Unhealthy, un-weathy
And unwise

-- Samuel Vargo

Molly May’s got a new hairdo

The size and shape of Texas,
The personality of a lone star –
Surrounded by admirers and haters
Gropers and shakers
Sad sacks and moneymakers
She sings to the good ole’ boys  &                             
Bad ole’ girls at Plumsley’s
Bar & Grill on the other side
Of the railroad tracks.
The bad side
    Where the rumble & tumble
    Is loudest.
                             And the rolling thunder
              Rolls over the karaoke
              Numbers.
Nope, it ain’t Nashville, no sir-eeeeee

Molly’s friends call her drama queen
But I call her queen of drama
Not much difference really
And don’t ya go lookin’ for Molly May
In any old moldy stack of books,
Unless she’s there with her five kids.
She meets them there sometimes
At the library on Main & Caruthers
When a `friend’ stays over
The night before.

-- Samuel Vargo

Storm

Flowing from a source
Felt but not seen
Appearing in moments
Like a wild animal
Phrase of sunshine

Its course bends
Round the heart
A caress of other
Where no other can be
Stirring meaning  

Falls out
A flurry
A few crystals
Dancing in air  
Separateness

Mysteriously
Drawing power
Silently explodes
Transforming
Everything

-- Tom Rubenoff

A Ticket to Somewhere

When I was eight
I jumped off a roof as if
I had a parachute
and broke a leg.
He was there when I landed,
told me to be careful,
said I was too young
and then disappeared.

In a high school game
I went up for a rebound,
came down on my head
and got a concussion.
When I landed
he was there again,
said I was still too young
and had better be careful.

In my late forties
I almost got hit by a truck
but jumped back in time
and landed on the curb.
This time he told me
I was no longer too young
and if I wasn’t careful
I might see him again.

Now decades later
I have been very careful
but I still watch for him
because the last time he said
every one of us has
a ticket to somewhere
with choices to make
and moments to decide.

-- Donal Mahoney

What the Doctor Doesn’t Say

It’s a simple procedure
I’ve done for years
many times a day.

You'll go home this afternoon,
take it easy over the weekend,
go back to work on Monday.

Insurance covers the cost.
No one has a problem
except the fetus.  

-- Donal Mahoney

Operative

spy in my own life,
uncertain of what side
I am on, agent/counter-agent.
not sure what the sides
even represent.
both parties sound the same
after so much rhetoric.
there is a beautiful dangerous
woman who turns out to be
nothing but an ordinary seamstress.
she owns lots of kittens.
not real cats, but objects made
in their round little shape.
the nefarious villain with the plan
for domination turns out to
not unlike myself.

-- JD DeHart

Deflation

I began by floating
above the dull earth, but
soon found that my ascent
was moving in the opposite
direction.  a few words later,
an insult here or there,
placed like a hidden blade,
and I was finding my way
quickly to the terrestrial
realm from which I rose.
the neighbors were the same,
and their cooking smelled
somehow worse.
their children still crowded
the streets like homeless
wanderers.
now I am merely a heap,
a might-have-been soon
to become a must-have-been
and then a who-was-that.

-- JD DeHart

Lawnmower Metaphors

there is always plenty of time
to think while mowing.
I move in the same squarish
lines I always do.  
first, I get up, then I shower,
then I pontificate.
the audience is trained
to look like they are listening.
     are they?
finally, the swift stroke,
the edging work, and I am
on my home again, home again
like yesterday and the day
before, trying not to work late,
trying to sleep again
and remember my movements.

-- JD DeHart