Soft and silky on my lips.
So warm and smooth my heart does flips.
Only one thing can bring such bliss:
The sensual touch of my lady's kiss.
Her eyes are pure and deep and bright.
Her arms a cocoon that holds me tight.
Between the two, nothing's amiss.
But they can't compare to her hungry kiss.
I have seen Paris by day -
Walked the Champses Elysee
I travel there when I reminisce.
But I fast return to my lady's kiss.
Originally written on 2/17/2007
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
My Wooden Table
My Wooden Table
When it was new, I remember
enjoying dinner
on its bare wood.
No table cloth was needed.
I loved the look of the
untreated surface, the feel
of the rough grain
against my skin.
A spill? A spill didn't
matter. A wash rag and
towel made everything
all right.
With time, the wooden
exterior began to warp, it's
smooth, flat façade no
longer level.
Spills grew into
disasters, each leaving
the table unusable for a
longer period of time.
One day, I realized it was
all but worthless. Too
unsightly and deformed for
hosting dinner.
Many years it sat like that,
unused and rejected,
forgotten and forsaken,
nothing but an eyesore.
Beneath this damaged round,
however, sat an
oaken base of
enduring strength.
A special friend recognized its
value and helped me find a
suitable covering. We've enjoyed eating on this
sturdy table ever since.
Originally written on 5/25/2008
When it was new, I remember
enjoying dinner
on its bare wood.
No table cloth was needed.
I loved the look of the
untreated surface, the feel
of the rough grain
against my skin.
A spill? A spill didn't
matter. A wash rag and
towel made everything
all right.
With time, the wooden
exterior began to warp, it's
smooth, flat façade no
longer level.
Spills grew into
disasters, each leaving
the table unusable for a
longer period of time.
One day, I realized it was
all but worthless. Too
unsightly and deformed for
hosting dinner.
Many years it sat like that,
unused and rejected,
forgotten and forsaken,
nothing but an eyesore.
Beneath this damaged round,
however, sat an
oaken base of
enduring strength.
A special friend recognized its
value and helped me find a
suitable covering. We've enjoyed eating on this
sturdy table ever since.
Originally written on 5/25/2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Full Contact Government
“Yellow.” Billy finally answers. “My favorite color is yellow.” He looks at her, a smile that she both loves and hates on his lips.
Damn! “Your favorite food?” How can I have so much in common with someone who is so forbidden?
“Entreé or desert?”
“Start with entreé.”
“Chicken.”
“Chicken what?”
“Just chicken.”
Double damn! “And desert?”
“Cheesecake.”
“With what topping?”
“None, plain.”
Triple damn! The interview takes nearly two hours, two of the most excruciating hours she can recall. Finally, with a sigh of relief, Jenna thanks Billy for his time and asks him to send in the next applicant. There is no doubt about it; she prefers the old hiring process to this fiasco. What did it matter what foods they liked and what position they slept in anyway? Each week for the past year, every since Randy Moss was elected President during last year’s Super Bowl and general election, strange new questions have been added to the interview list. ‘When did you take your first step? What preschool did you attend? Who was the first NFL president you remember seeing?’ At least the last one made sense.
The questions weren’t the worst part of the hiring process, though. The worst part was the prohibition to date any of the applicants. To interview the most athletic and attractive men on the planet and not be able to go out with any of them, or even to flirt with them was excruciating. Jenna stands as the next applicant enters her office. “Please, have a seat. This interview will take between one and a half and two hours. Do you require any nourishment or refreshments?”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“Good. Let’s get started.”
“What is your name?”
“Kyle Watson.”
“Mentor?”
“President Moss.”
“Affiliation?”
“Boise Bengels.”
“Usual position?”
“Vice Quarterback.”
The first half of the interview consists of questions that are mostly related to the government. What team the applicant is aligned with. What position the applicant played in high school government. Which constitution the applicant prefers. It is the second half of the interview that drives Jenna crazy. At least preseason is almost over, she thinks to herself as she thanks Kyle for his time and dismisses him. A glance at her watch, about three fourths through the interview, let her know that this would be her last interview of the day. As Kyle walks out of her office and closes the door, she looks at her watch again. Sure enough, only three more minutes until ref’s whistle. She spends the final minutes of the work day organizing the drawers of her desk before taking the results of the five interviews she conducted this day and hands them to one of the officials on the way to her car.
Jenna enjoys working for the NFL. Government has always been an interest of hers, especially since the instant replay debacle of 2030. She was in elementary school at the time, but she still remembers vividly how that incident nearly left the United States without an acting government for the first time since the NFL gained power during the 2008 presidential elections. She wasn’t even born when the NFL came to power, but ever since the replay event, she has been entranced by politics and determined to discover her part in it. In high school, she was a cheerleader for the class government. In college, she interned with the Des Moines Cowboys while she earned her degree in Halftime Law. After college, she spent two years touring the National Training Camps before accepting a job as an interviewer for the NFL itself.
Jenna walks the short distance from the elevator to her reserved parking space. She gestures open the lock on her brand new Reebok Rave and instructs the car to take her to her condo in Shuttle Pass Towers. She loves her car, her condo, and all the rest of the indemnities that come with being a card carrying fan of the current Super Bowl champs, and doesn’t want to lose them in January if she can avoid it. There are only two more weeks in preseason; only two more weeks before she is required to choose which team she will align herself with this year. With all of the acquisitions during the off-season, she has some serious studying to do if she wants to have a chance of choosing next year’s winner.
Jenna arrives at her condo. She gestures open the door and walks through the doorway. The Wilson Estimator kicks in and brings the temperature and humidity to optimum levels for her mood, adjusts the lighting to match the activity level of her brain, and provides an intricately calculated combination of aromas to enhance her performance in her currently desired area of interest. In less than a second, every room in her condo is at a temperature of 74.6 degrees with 34.7 percent humidity, bathed in a bright white glow, and pleasantly fragranced in a scent dominated by lavender and jasmine. Tonight is a night to study.
She gestures her widescreen, internet curtain to display a list of all 50 NFL teams and their rosters. For three hours she pours over the statistics of every single senator and recently acquired congressman on each team. At the end of the three hours, her eyes bloodshot and her neck sore from staring at the curtain all night, Jenna gestures away the curtain and slouches to her bedroom.
“Good evening Jenna, will you be sleeping alone tonight?” her Spalding 4000 sleep accentuator asks.
“Yes. Again.”
Analyzing both the words and the vocal inflections of Jenna’s reply and determining a hint of disappointment, the Spalding 4000 says, “Aw, that’s too bad honey. Would you like some artificial companionship or something from the kitchen?”
“Yes and yes. Surprise me on both accounts,” Jenna says. The lights of her bedroom dim and a low, pleasant whirring noise is heard as a serving tray, with a covered dinner plate, glass of Chablis, eating utensils, and an array of fresh flowers slides out smoothly onto a table next to her round bed. Jenna walks over to her bed and sits down. Once seated, the table adjusts itself to her position and the plate uncovers itself. On the plate is a generous helping of Fettuccini Alfredo with Chicken, a side of green beans and bacon, a warm dinner roll, and a small bowl of cranberry cobbler. Jenna picks at the food but eventually eats most of it.
After dinner, the vase holding the flowers begins to hover while the tray with the dirty dinner dishes retracts into the wall. Once the tray is gone, the vase lowers itself down to the table. Jenna rolls over onto the bed and finds her favorite position in the center. The lights dim a bit more and take on a pinkish hue. As Jenna closes her eyes, a light mist with a musky smell hovers over Jenna and the Spalding 4000 says, “Enjoy honey, I think this is one of your favorites.” Before the Spalding 4000 even finishes talking, Jenna starts to squirm and writhe on the bed and a smile of intense pleasure overpowers her face.
The next morning Jenna is awakened by a refreshing breeze proffered by the Wilson Estimator and the pleasing aroma of freshly cooked eggs and toast by the Spalding 4000. She can barely remember back to the days, before she was aligned with the ruling Super Bowl winners, when the only estimator and accentuator she could afford were incompatible and could not be used simultaneously without bitter bickering occurring between the two devices. The current versions, thanks to both being based on the latest version of Microsoft GOD, get along swimmingly and unselfishly assist each other while taking care of Jenna. There’s no way I can go back to my old apartment. I have to find a way to pick this year’s Super Bowl winners.
In an instant, she is looking at the locked chest sitting below her bedroom window. The chest, a throw-back to the days before Universal Access, is the only lockable accessory still allowed. Locking the chest is merely a perfunctory exercise, however, as, ever since Universal Access came into effect, every lock and every key is identical. She hurries to the chest, clutching at the key hanging around her neck, and opens the lock before she loses her nerve. Inside the chest is another relic from the past, a plastic case containing a round plastic disc. I can’t believe people used to use these to watch movies and listen to music. How inconvenient. Owning this disc, once commonly known as a DVD, is not illegal; however, possessing the information contained on this disc, football statistics analysis software, without the proper clearance, is a capital offense.
As just an interviewer, Jenna’s security clearance isn’t high enough for her to have possession of software for analyzing football statistics, but she know’s of a possible solution. At the inaugural ball last year, she overheard the Vice President, Eli Manning, talking with a staffer. She still remembers the phrase. The phrase was a sort of backdoor, a universal password that the VP had given the staffer for protection. She was sure it would protect her also.
She snatches up the disc, pulls it close to her chest, and sprints to her living room. There, she gestures her internet curtain to life and instructs it to access the data on the disc. The internet curtain obeys her command and displays a detailed listing of the disc’s contents. While examining the disc’s contents, the internet curtain flashes blood red and says, “Jenna you are in possession of illegal software and are without the proper clearance. What is your preferred method of execution?”
I hope this works, Jenna thinks to herself and then says. “Randy Moss is better than Jerry Rice.”
“Your response is acceptable,” the internet curtain says. In her excitement, Jenna runs to the bathroom without hearing the rest of what the internet curtain has to say. “Your immediate destruction has been temporary postponed awaiting verification from President Moss. Thank you for your patience while your fate is determined and have a nice day.”
Originally written on 9/12/2004
Damn! “Your favorite food?” How can I have so much in common with someone who is so forbidden?
“Entreé or desert?”
“Start with entreé.”
“Chicken.”
“Chicken what?”
“Just chicken.”
Double damn! “And desert?”
“Cheesecake.”
“With what topping?”
“None, plain.”
Triple damn! The interview takes nearly two hours, two of the most excruciating hours she can recall. Finally, with a sigh of relief, Jenna thanks Billy for his time and asks him to send in the next applicant. There is no doubt about it; she prefers the old hiring process to this fiasco. What did it matter what foods they liked and what position they slept in anyway? Each week for the past year, every since Randy Moss was elected President during last year’s Super Bowl and general election, strange new questions have been added to the interview list. ‘When did you take your first step? What preschool did you attend? Who was the first NFL president you remember seeing?’ At least the last one made sense.
The questions weren’t the worst part of the hiring process, though. The worst part was the prohibition to date any of the applicants. To interview the most athletic and attractive men on the planet and not be able to go out with any of them, or even to flirt with them was excruciating. Jenna stands as the next applicant enters her office. “Please, have a seat. This interview will take between one and a half and two hours. Do you require any nourishment or refreshments?”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“Good. Let’s get started.”
“What is your name?”
“Kyle Watson.”
“Mentor?”
“President Moss.”
“Affiliation?”
“Boise Bengels.”
“Usual position?”
“Vice Quarterback.”
The first half of the interview consists of questions that are mostly related to the government. What team the applicant is aligned with. What position the applicant played in high school government. Which constitution the applicant prefers. It is the second half of the interview that drives Jenna crazy. At least preseason is almost over, she thinks to herself as she thanks Kyle for his time and dismisses him. A glance at her watch, about three fourths through the interview, let her know that this would be her last interview of the day. As Kyle walks out of her office and closes the door, she looks at her watch again. Sure enough, only three more minutes until ref’s whistle. She spends the final minutes of the work day organizing the drawers of her desk before taking the results of the five interviews she conducted this day and hands them to one of the officials on the way to her car.
Jenna enjoys working for the NFL. Government has always been an interest of hers, especially since the instant replay debacle of 2030. She was in elementary school at the time, but she still remembers vividly how that incident nearly left the United States without an acting government for the first time since the NFL gained power during the 2008 presidential elections. She wasn’t even born when the NFL came to power, but ever since the replay event, she has been entranced by politics and determined to discover her part in it. In high school, she was a cheerleader for the class government. In college, she interned with the Des Moines Cowboys while she earned her degree in Halftime Law. After college, she spent two years touring the National Training Camps before accepting a job as an interviewer for the NFL itself.
Jenna walks the short distance from the elevator to her reserved parking space. She gestures open the lock on her brand new Reebok Rave and instructs the car to take her to her condo in Shuttle Pass Towers. She loves her car, her condo, and all the rest of the indemnities that come with being a card carrying fan of the current Super Bowl champs, and doesn’t want to lose them in January if she can avoid it. There are only two more weeks in preseason; only two more weeks before she is required to choose which team she will align herself with this year. With all of the acquisitions during the off-season, she has some serious studying to do if she wants to have a chance of choosing next year’s winner.
Jenna arrives at her condo. She gestures open the door and walks through the doorway. The Wilson Estimator kicks in and brings the temperature and humidity to optimum levels for her mood, adjusts the lighting to match the activity level of her brain, and provides an intricately calculated combination of aromas to enhance her performance in her currently desired area of interest. In less than a second, every room in her condo is at a temperature of 74.6 degrees with 34.7 percent humidity, bathed in a bright white glow, and pleasantly fragranced in a scent dominated by lavender and jasmine. Tonight is a night to study.
She gestures her widescreen, internet curtain to display a list of all 50 NFL teams and their rosters. For three hours she pours over the statistics of every single senator and recently acquired congressman on each team. At the end of the three hours, her eyes bloodshot and her neck sore from staring at the curtain all night, Jenna gestures away the curtain and slouches to her bedroom.
“Good evening Jenna, will you be sleeping alone tonight?” her Spalding 4000 sleep accentuator asks.
“Yes. Again.”
Analyzing both the words and the vocal inflections of Jenna’s reply and determining a hint of disappointment, the Spalding 4000 says, “Aw, that’s too bad honey. Would you like some artificial companionship or something from the kitchen?”
“Yes and yes. Surprise me on both accounts,” Jenna says. The lights of her bedroom dim and a low, pleasant whirring noise is heard as a serving tray, with a covered dinner plate, glass of Chablis, eating utensils, and an array of fresh flowers slides out smoothly onto a table next to her round bed. Jenna walks over to her bed and sits down. Once seated, the table adjusts itself to her position and the plate uncovers itself. On the plate is a generous helping of Fettuccini Alfredo with Chicken, a side of green beans and bacon, a warm dinner roll, and a small bowl of cranberry cobbler. Jenna picks at the food but eventually eats most of it.
After dinner, the vase holding the flowers begins to hover while the tray with the dirty dinner dishes retracts into the wall. Once the tray is gone, the vase lowers itself down to the table. Jenna rolls over onto the bed and finds her favorite position in the center. The lights dim a bit more and take on a pinkish hue. As Jenna closes her eyes, a light mist with a musky smell hovers over Jenna and the Spalding 4000 says, “Enjoy honey, I think this is one of your favorites.” Before the Spalding 4000 even finishes talking, Jenna starts to squirm and writhe on the bed and a smile of intense pleasure overpowers her face.
The next morning Jenna is awakened by a refreshing breeze proffered by the Wilson Estimator and the pleasing aroma of freshly cooked eggs and toast by the Spalding 4000. She can barely remember back to the days, before she was aligned with the ruling Super Bowl winners, when the only estimator and accentuator she could afford were incompatible and could not be used simultaneously without bitter bickering occurring between the two devices. The current versions, thanks to both being based on the latest version of Microsoft GOD, get along swimmingly and unselfishly assist each other while taking care of Jenna. There’s no way I can go back to my old apartment. I have to find a way to pick this year’s Super Bowl winners.
In an instant, she is looking at the locked chest sitting below her bedroom window. The chest, a throw-back to the days before Universal Access, is the only lockable accessory still allowed. Locking the chest is merely a perfunctory exercise, however, as, ever since Universal Access came into effect, every lock and every key is identical. She hurries to the chest, clutching at the key hanging around her neck, and opens the lock before she loses her nerve. Inside the chest is another relic from the past, a plastic case containing a round plastic disc. I can’t believe people used to use these to watch movies and listen to music. How inconvenient. Owning this disc, once commonly known as a DVD, is not illegal; however, possessing the information contained on this disc, football statistics analysis software, without the proper clearance, is a capital offense.
As just an interviewer, Jenna’s security clearance isn’t high enough for her to have possession of software for analyzing football statistics, but she know’s of a possible solution. At the inaugural ball last year, she overheard the Vice President, Eli Manning, talking with a staffer. She still remembers the phrase. The phrase was a sort of backdoor, a universal password that the VP had given the staffer for protection. She was sure it would protect her also.
She snatches up the disc, pulls it close to her chest, and sprints to her living room. There, she gestures her internet curtain to life and instructs it to access the data on the disc. The internet curtain obeys her command and displays a detailed listing of the disc’s contents. While examining the disc’s contents, the internet curtain flashes blood red and says, “Jenna you are in possession of illegal software and are without the proper clearance. What is your preferred method of execution?”
I hope this works, Jenna thinks to herself and then says. “Randy Moss is better than Jerry Rice.”
“Your response is acceptable,” the internet curtain says. In her excitement, Jenna runs to the bathroom without hearing the rest of what the internet curtain has to say. “Your immediate destruction has been temporary postponed awaiting verification from President Moss. Thank you for your patience while your fate is determined and have a nice day.”
Originally written on 9/12/2004
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
My Absence
Sorry about missing Monday and Tuesday. Our internet went out Saturday night. Charter couldn't come and fix the problem until Tuesday morning. Meanwhile, I caught a nasty, nasty cold and was in no shape to leave the house in search of a coffee house or other internet hotspot. Then, when they finally got the internet up and running, I was out of energy. So, for today, I'm going to put up my second song. It's called:
I Loved You Away From Me
I told you that I loved you. I promised to be true.
I said that I’d be faithful, but then what did you do?
You went and found another, you found another man.
So now I sit here – smiling – it’s going just how I planned.
The first time that I met you, you really rocked my world.
But that was 'fore I realized that you're one messed up girl.
Listening to you whining, hearing you complain.
I swear if you say one more word, I'm gonna go insane.
Chorus:
I loved you away from me.
I had to save my sanity.
Ignoring you didn't cause you to leave,
So I loved you away from me.
I tried to make you leave me, by drinking night and day.
I tried to hurt you deeply, by the things I wouldn't say.
It only brought you closer. You only loved me more.
I had to find a way to love your butt clean out the door.
Chorus:
I loved you away from me.
I had to save my sanity.
Ignoring you didn't cause you to leave,
So I loved you away from me.
That’s when it hit me, that’s when I understood.
That if I truly loved you, I'd lose you for good.
So I did some reading in that Mars and Venus book.
I showed a little tenderness, and that was all it took.
Chorus:
I loved you away from me.
I had to save my sanity.
Ignoring you wouldn’t cause you to leave,
So I loved you away from me.
Originally written on 1/24/2005
I Loved You Away From Me
I told you that I loved you. I promised to be true.
I said that I’d be faithful, but then what did you do?
You went and found another, you found another man.
So now I sit here – smiling – it’s going just how I planned.
The first time that I met you, you really rocked my world.
But that was 'fore I realized that you're one messed up girl.
Listening to you whining, hearing you complain.
I swear if you say one more word, I'm gonna go insane.
Chorus:
I loved you away from me.
I had to save my sanity.
Ignoring you didn't cause you to leave,
So I loved you away from me.
I tried to make you leave me, by drinking night and day.
I tried to hurt you deeply, by the things I wouldn't say.
It only brought you closer. You only loved me more.
I had to find a way to love your butt clean out the door.
Chorus:
I loved you away from me.
I had to save my sanity.
Ignoring you didn't cause you to leave,
So I loved you away from me.
That’s when it hit me, that’s when I understood.
That if I truly loved you, I'd lose you for good.
So I did some reading in that Mars and Venus book.
I showed a little tenderness, and that was all it took.
Chorus:
I loved you away from me.
I had to save my sanity.
Ignoring you wouldn’t cause you to leave,
So I loved you away from me.
Originally written on 1/24/2005
Friday, February 1, 2008
The Loner
Barry Morton walks to the edge of the street and stops. He raises his eyes from where they were directed, at the ground two feet in front of him, and checks both directions for cars before continuing across the street and into Fazzo’s Pub. His gait is tired and weak.
He labors over to the bar and lifts himself up on one of the barstools. Without looking up, he taps his finger three times on the bar in front of him. Roger, the bartender, turns in the direction of Barry’s tapping. He nods his head almost imperceptibly and grabs a drink glass in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other. He salts the rim of the glass, sets the glass on the rim of the bar, and scoops ice into the glass with the same hand. He then pours tequila on top of the ice in one smooth motion where he raises the spout of the tequila bottle high above the glass and then lowers it back down. While he pours the tequila, he grabs a plastic bottle of off-white liquid in his other hand and pours it in the same fashion as he poured the tequila. Once the glass is full, he tips up both of the bottles and places them back where he had found them in a rack by the bar. All in all, it takes only three seconds for Roger to make the drink, pick it up in his hands, and place it down in front of Barry.
Barry pulls the drink to him. He then takes out his wallet from his back pocket, removes a couple of bills, and hands them to Roger. In a flash, Roger snatches the money out of Barry’s hand and slams a couple of coins on the bar next to Barry’s drink. "Tough one today?" Roger asks.
"Yep," Barry says, without looking up.
"Worse than normal?"
"Nope."
"So about average then?"
Barry raises his eyes and glares at Roger. Roger retreats a step. After two or three seconds, Barry lowers his eyes back to his drink. Roger shrugs his shoulders and walks to the far end of the bar where the waitresses and waiters make their drink orders. He then grabs a rag and walks the perimeter of the bar, scans its surface, and wipes it with the rag in half a dozen places.
Roger approaches where Barry is sitting. With the rag still in his hand, Roger wipes up a couple of small puddles sitting near Barry’s drink. "Is the family fine?" Roger asks Barry.
"Yep." Barry says, his eyes still glued to the drink in front of him.
"Nobody’s sick?"
"Nope."
"So all is well and good then?"
Barry continues to stare at his drink. Roger looks at Barry intently, but Barry doesn’t move his eyes or open his mouth to speak. Roger tugs on his clip-on bowtie a few times before turning back around and walking to the other side of the bar. After a few minutes, Barry taps his finger three times on the bar. Roger hears the tapping, turns toward Barry, and proceeds to make another drink just like the one he made earlier. Roger removes the empty glass from in front of Barry and places down the newly created drink in its stead. "Think it's gonna rain?" Roger asks.
"Yep." Barry says without moving his head at all.
"Think you’ll get wet walking home?"
"Nope."
"So you don’t think it will rain until later then?"
Barry picks up the drink in front of him. He raises it to his lips, tips it up, and empties all of it into his mouth. He then sets the empty drink glass back down on the bar and lifts himself off of the barstool.
Roger watches as Barry, with his eyes staring down, walks to the door. Barry stops and turns toward Roger. "Thanks." Barry says and then exits to the sidewalk. He then walks to the edge of the street and stops. He raises his eyes to look both ways for cars and then crosses the street and lumbers down the sidewalk.
He whistles to himself a low cheery tune as he walks. After about 30 steps a couple stray drops of rain fall down and hit him on the cheek. "Oops." He says to himself and continues walking down the sidewalk with his eyes directed at a spot no more than two feet in front.
Originally written on 8/23/2004
He labors over to the bar and lifts himself up on one of the barstools. Without looking up, he taps his finger three times on the bar in front of him. Roger, the bartender, turns in the direction of Barry’s tapping. He nods his head almost imperceptibly and grabs a drink glass in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other. He salts the rim of the glass, sets the glass on the rim of the bar, and scoops ice into the glass with the same hand. He then pours tequila on top of the ice in one smooth motion where he raises the spout of the tequila bottle high above the glass and then lowers it back down. While he pours the tequila, he grabs a plastic bottle of off-white liquid in his other hand and pours it in the same fashion as he poured the tequila. Once the glass is full, he tips up both of the bottles and places them back where he had found them in a rack by the bar. All in all, it takes only three seconds for Roger to make the drink, pick it up in his hands, and place it down in front of Barry.
Barry pulls the drink to him. He then takes out his wallet from his back pocket, removes a couple of bills, and hands them to Roger. In a flash, Roger snatches the money out of Barry’s hand and slams a couple of coins on the bar next to Barry’s drink. "Tough one today?" Roger asks.
"Yep," Barry says, without looking up.
"Worse than normal?"
"Nope."
"So about average then?"
Barry raises his eyes and glares at Roger. Roger retreats a step. After two or three seconds, Barry lowers his eyes back to his drink. Roger shrugs his shoulders and walks to the far end of the bar where the waitresses and waiters make their drink orders. He then grabs a rag and walks the perimeter of the bar, scans its surface, and wipes it with the rag in half a dozen places.
Roger approaches where Barry is sitting. With the rag still in his hand, Roger wipes up a couple of small puddles sitting near Barry’s drink. "Is the family fine?" Roger asks Barry.
"Yep." Barry says, his eyes still glued to the drink in front of him.
"Nobody’s sick?"
"Nope."
"So all is well and good then?"
Barry continues to stare at his drink. Roger looks at Barry intently, but Barry doesn’t move his eyes or open his mouth to speak. Roger tugs on his clip-on bowtie a few times before turning back around and walking to the other side of the bar. After a few minutes, Barry taps his finger three times on the bar. Roger hears the tapping, turns toward Barry, and proceeds to make another drink just like the one he made earlier. Roger removes the empty glass from in front of Barry and places down the newly created drink in its stead. "Think it's gonna rain?" Roger asks.
"Yep." Barry says without moving his head at all.
"Think you’ll get wet walking home?"
"Nope."
"So you don’t think it will rain until later then?"
Barry picks up the drink in front of him. He raises it to his lips, tips it up, and empties all of it into his mouth. He then sets the empty drink glass back down on the bar and lifts himself off of the barstool.
Roger watches as Barry, with his eyes staring down, walks to the door. Barry stops and turns toward Roger. "Thanks." Barry says and then exits to the sidewalk. He then walks to the edge of the street and stops. He raises his eyes to look both ways for cars and then crosses the street and lumbers down the sidewalk.
He whistles to himself a low cheery tune as he walks. After about 30 steps a couple stray drops of rain fall down and hit him on the cheek. "Oops." He says to himself and continues walking down the sidewalk with his eyes directed at a spot no more than two feet in front.
Originally written on 8/23/2004
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Kari
I have been daydreaming a lot lately. My mind wanders to someone special and my load seems lighter. My mind wanders and my smile sneaks out. I notice the little things more than ever, and for that I thank you.
Little by little I am learning. I am finding out more and more about someone who continues to impress me. I feel more relaxed than I have in a long time. You have put me at ease, and for that I thank you.
Others have noticed my increased energy. "What is with that spring in your step?" they query. I feel a little younger. I feel better than I have in a long time, and for that I thank you.
I feel a sense of apprehension. I am laying my heart farther and farther away from the safety of my walls. I enjoy the sensation. You make me feel vulnerable, and for that I thank you.
I don't know the future. I don't know whether we will find a path to hold hands on. I don't know if I can take your breath away. I really want to though, and for that I thank you.
Originally written on 10/30/2004
Little by little I am learning. I am finding out more and more about someone who continues to impress me. I feel more relaxed than I have in a long time. You have put me at ease, and for that I thank you.
Others have noticed my increased energy. "What is with that spring in your step?" they query. I feel a little younger. I feel better than I have in a long time, and for that I thank you.
I feel a sense of apprehension. I am laying my heart farther and farther away from the safety of my walls. I enjoy the sensation. You make me feel vulnerable, and for that I thank you.
I don't know the future. I don't know whether we will find a path to hold hands on. I don't know if I can take your breath away. I really want to though, and for that I thank you.
Originally written on 10/30/2004
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Scared
I have trouble putting down into words,
The way I wanted things to go.
We met; I liked you, but I got scared.
I sent you my poems and told you my thoughts.
I was in the running for a while.
I saw you; I was attracted, but I got scared.
Do you remember the day,
When we first talked on the phone?
I heard your voice; I liked it, but I got scared.
I was sure you were someone special.
I pictured us together.
I liked you; I wanted you, but I got scared.
Originally written on 10/11/2004
The way I wanted things to go.
We met; I liked you, but I got scared.
I sent you my poems and told you my thoughts.
I was in the running for a while.
I saw you; I was attracted, but I got scared.
Do you remember the day,
When we first talked on the phone?
I heard your voice; I liked it, but I got scared.
I was sure you were someone special.
I pictured us together.
I liked you; I wanted you, but I got scared.
Originally written on 10/11/2004
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