Mama's words never cease to echo in my mind
Son...
Always remember the son of whom you are
Remember the home you're from

Steer away from greed, it drowns
Jealousy and comparison will pull you down
What you think of yourself is your truth
Never take that which doesn't belong to you

Do good expecting nothing in return
Don't pay evil back with its kind
Love yourself and remember to be kind
Money is good but it won't buy good character

In all that you do, protect you name and image
Love your neighbor as yourself
Do away with pride
Remember the son of whom you are!

A line cook at Denny’s (must have own pans)
Is an artist, accomplished in assemblage
Compositions of eggs (rather like Cezanne’s)
Toast, bacon, waffles for his decoupage

His gesso is the window layered in steam
Built of reflections and condensation
Hinting at the flowing Interstate stream
Beyond the No Smoking pumping station

The line cook has indeed his pans and plans -
Art, as the muse of cookery commands

Some days
I wake
in tears,

Some days
I wake refreshed,

But today
I woke
a blank space,
nothing to emote
I’m just a still pond
with a small wooden boat
afloat.

With a wrinkled face
scorned by age,
you work and scrimmage
to try and save
your wage
for the better days to come.

Tired and betrayed
you see change
rushing from
the power of some
who want and take
the things you make.

By force of will
and money
they legislate
for the sake
of profits,

and we feel powerless,
like our voices have been stripped.
We feel as if
we are crippled
by the likes of that which
gives them power;

But there is power in a voice.
There is strength in a choice.
There is a gift in
giving compassion,
actions
that takes the harshness
of life and lessens
with lessons
and examples
of kindness.

You find this
in the giving of time,
the sharing of food,
while listening to
a lonely dude,
or stopping to help
strangers in need.

You may not see
the positivity
generated.

You may feel as if
it doesn’t mean ****,
as you watch all those crooks
shift and twist
the masses into
a hateful mob.

But that’s not
all you got,
there is more power
to be found
if you look around
and help those
who are down.

Betty Coutu drives a mean Rambler
takes us public school, heathens
to catechism on Saturday morn
Smokes a cigarette like a prima-ballerina
Shifts three on the wheel
drives that clutch to the floor
with her thick leg
Makes the engine roar
a little
“to warm it up”

Turns with the grace of swan
Pavlova or belladonna
Something of beauty
just to watch her
three-finger the wheel through a turn around
all while taking a drag
exhales to ceiling
to music on the radio
Elvis? Roy O, Patsy Cline
circa 1959
Betty's hair is short, uncombed
but she's not without lipstick
lights her smoke with amazing matchbook skills
Calm
like a woman who does it often
takes on wear
with I'm in love, and I don't give a care
She shifts and turns
cigarette balanced like gossip on lips
or between
those first two fingertips
Smoke swirling
amid kids squabbling and whining
in the back seat
No belts back then
till Dad got home
to keep them in line
But, I bet on Betty every time
to get us there
I want to drive like her, so badly!
I sit beside her-- ossified
watching
her smoke and handle
like a total expert
I am distracted
and will surely fumble
my catechism answers
for the nuns
cataclysmically

She drops us off by an icy foot slide
I swear to God to stop back later when we're done
...with prayer and penance  
recitation... and resolvings
to sin no more
Once we're out the door--

back to that forbidden foot-slide

Always had a plan for fun
So did Betty's son
the hemophiliac
Bless myself like an Olympian
and pray for Johnny
before he joins me for a run


hemophilia:
a medical condition in which the ability of the blood to clot is severely reduced, causing the sufferer to bleed severely from even a slight injury. The condition is typically caused by a hereditary lack of a coagulation factor, most often factor VIII.