Three boys sit on milk crates.
Ash cans and pickle barrels surround them.
And they begin to play.
A crowd slowly gathers around them.
A coffee can holds their tips;
The dollar bills that trickle in
As the boys make magic with sticks
Ash cans, and pickle barrel lids.
Music to rival a rock band
Echoes through the streets
From the boys with the ash cans
And the pickle barrel beat.
To please a growing crowd
All day long they play
Until the summer sun goes down
And they carry home their crates.
A very long time ago
I took my baby’s shoe
Filled it up with Earth
And planted a flower that grew.
Now my little garden
Is filled with many shoes
From my children and their children
And their children’s children too!
Not much bigger than his bicycle
Downhill on the walkway he came
Picking up more speed than he wanted
Judging by the look on his face.
To avoid me he steered his two-wheeled horse
While carefully calculating the course.
On his left a building loomed large;
The bricks on its face appearing awfully hard
Not a good thing to hit with the bike
Which you’ve just begun to ride.
He was concentrating on this task
As he went riding past
And in the instant that he was close
I heard him whisper:
“Whoa.”
My two-year-old got hold of some crayons the other day
And the walls of his room he did decorate.
Pictures of “horsies” and “doggies” he explained.
I must admit at the time I was not entertained.
But I remembered in college a trip I once made
With other geology students to some ancient caves.
We discovered a place where primitive people roamed
And cave dwellings which they would have called home.
In one of these we found pictures carved in the wall
And were so fascinated by the wonder of it all.
We tried to decipher the scenes they described;
To touch the thoughts of an ancient mind.
But perhaps what we saw on the wall of that cave
Were the “horsies” and “doggies” of another day.
Some little boy may have gotten hold of a stone
And practiced his artwork on the walls of his home.
So I just may leave my son’s pictures alone.
They said I wouldn’t find it, but I did.
I can’t wait to show those kids.
I just knew they were wrong
And I was right all along.
It’s right there where I thought it would be
In the Dictionary, under “G”.
I thought it was unbelievable
That they’d leave out the word “Gullible”.
Out of control he went into a spin.
Hitting an asteroid put an end to him.
GAME OVER
Flashed upon the screen.
But that night as the boy dreamed
He found himself flying the machine.
An enemy ship came into his sight.
This was his chance to do it up right.
He fired his weapon—Direct Hit!
Nothing but dust remained of the ship.
Up from behind came another attack.
He would have to do something; had to think fast.
He went into a dive then looped it around
So he was above the other and bearing down.
He armed a torpedo and let the thing fly.
A mighty explosion cleared the sky.
Yet another craft turned ’round to flee.
No, you are not getting away from me.
He hit his turbo boost and began giving chase;
Lined up a laser and fired into space.
His enemy disintegrated with not even a trace.
Having cleared the area, he called it a day.
He would fly again tomorrow—at the video arcade.
There’s a bug
Banging against the window.
A big bug;
A humongous bug
Banging against my window.
It wants to get in.
It’s trying to get in.
It’s dying to get in
And eat me up.
Son, I bought these for you
In Nineteen Seventy-two
When you were four.
The walls of your room they were to adorn.
I put them away;
In the attic they lay
Forgotten
Until I found them today.
It’s been quite some time
Since you were four
And soon your own son will be born.
These things have been so long
In a place they didn’t belong
But perhaps they can bring some joy
To another little boy.
The court stands empty
Not a court actually
But only a vacant lot
Where the net hangs unused
Because it’s too hot
To play
The Game.
The Firemen came by and
Opened the hydrant
For just a minute or two
So the little kids could run through
And feel the spray
Because it’s too hot
To play
This afternoon.
We watched our ball
As it bounced
Over the fence
Into The Old Lady’s yard.
We feared for the ball
For if she got it
She would pop it
With a pin
That she kept in her house
In case a ball bounced
Into her yard.
We looked for her.
Had she seen it?
Could we possibly get it
Before she found out
It had bounced
Into her yard?
It meant going ourselves
Over the fence
Into The Old Lady’s yard
To get the ball
As it lay on the ground
Surrounded
By her thorn bushes.
And what would she do
If she ever came out
And found us
In her yard?
Across the parking lot he saw it.
He made a beeline straight for it.
His mother stood by, powerless to stop it.
He ran;
He leapt;
He landed
Right on top of it.
The puddle.
Sitting at the playground
Watching the children play;
Watching as they run around.
Two on the see-saw; one on the swing;
One sitting all by himself
Looking right at me.
So I’m picking up this baseball
And putting this pencil down.
It’s been a while anyway
Since I threw a ball around.
Across the crowded room I saw her.
She was a beautiful girl
With big brown eyes and small blond curls.
She was just sitting there
Strapped into her highchair.
I wanted to go over and introduce myself
But I was strapped in as well.
I needed to get her attention
So I threw my bottle in her general direction.
The noise it made got her looking around.
So I started throwing my arms up and down.
Finally she saw me after a while
And from across the crowded room, she smiled.
It was the season’s first snowfall;
My brother and I
Ran to the front yard with sheer delight.
It didn’t take long for us to decide
We would build a snowman.
“I know how!” I shouted with pride.
We gathered together a pile of snow
And pushed it around, watching it grow.
Finally, when we could move it no more
I looked at my brother
And said, “Here’s where it goes!”
We started again and soon had a middle
But we couldn’t lift it up;
We were both too little.
We stood in the snow facing defeat
Pieces of snowman surrounding our feet
When who to our watering eyes did appear
But Dad! “Hey, Dad, come on over here!”
Across the snow he came like a flash
Raising our spirits, our defeat smashed.
Up went our snowman; boy were we glad
Thanks to the help of our good ol’ Dad.
One of the best winters I think I ever had.
A sign on a pole
A little girl’s only hope
Of ever getting back
Her little lost cat.
She wrote a description
Of her favorite kitten
And put her phone number down.
“Please call when he is found.”
Her father knows the cat
Will probably never be back
But all around he drives
So she can put up her signs
Because it will make her feel better
For a little while.
The boy’s belongings were strewn about the parking lot.
His papers were beginning to scatter with the wind.
The other boy continued on up the hill
Much amused at having caused the spill.
The boy picked up a Coke® can and said
“Hey! This is your head!”
He placed the can on the ground among the scattered books.
“This is your head under my foot!”
Down came the foot, completely crushing the can.
“Any questions?!”
Why is the grass green, Daddy?
What makes the grass green?
Chlorophyll, Honey.
Chlorophyll makes the grass green.
What is chlorophyll, Daddy?
It’s a chemical, Honey.
It lets the plants make food.
Oh.
Daddy, why is the sky blue?
Nowhere to hide.
I was terrified.
Nowhere to run.
My turn had come.
I cursed my fate
But it was already too late.
NO!!!!
Not ME! I silently roared
When the teacher called me up to the board.
The boy balanced precariously
On the rocks over the highway
In his hand a can of spray paint.
Bright red to start
To color an enormous heart.
Then, in black, an arrow through it.
Finally, her name lettered so carefully
Upon the rocks above the highway
Next to his name.
So much time and trouble to make
An expression of love for his lady—
And some would call it graffiti.
And wish it washed away.
I couldn’t believe it.
I stood in the summer sun
Looking down upon it
With sheer disappointment.
From my cone it had fallen
And now lay glistening
Upon the pavement.
A tractor moves a mountain around
As a backhoe digs a trench in the ground.
The mighty trucks, idle through the night
Are back at work on the construction site.
Moving massive amounts of earth
Rocks, sand, gravel and dirt.
All day long back and forth they go
To fill up one and dig another hole
Always doing very important stuff;
My boy and his toys, his Tonka® trucks.
On Easter one year when my girls were small
I thought I’d give them the best gift of all.
For weeks they had talked of the rabbit to come
So my wife and I decided to buy them one.
I really thought it would be rather funny
When they awoke that morning to find the Easter Bunny.
But instead they began to cry and fuss:
Everyone in school is going to hate us!
He couldn’t bring candy to any of them
Because we put the Easter Bunny in a pen!
To calm them down I frantically tried
As tears rolled from their little eyes.
I told them this was just a pet we got.
That the real Easter Bunny couldn’t be caught.
He could never be put in a trap.
He was much too smart for that.
My wife just stood and looked at me
As they insisted that I set him free.
What a disaster it turned out to be
The year I “captured” the Easter Bunny.
Freezing cold we stood in the snow.
Just the two of us
Waiting for the school bus
And warmth.
For twenty minutes we waited
As snow fell around us.
But no school bus;
No warmth.
If we had listened to the radio
We would have known
No school today—on account of snow.
Finally we trudged home
To warmth.
The other day I was clicking the remote.
My six-year-old was downstairs playing Nintendo.
Next thing I knew, he was standing in front of me
With this grin on his face, asking, “What are these?”
And holding up a couple of my old LPs
He really had no idea—it had to be
He’d only seen cassettes and CDs.
Back downstairs went the two of us
Where my old phonograph was collecting dust.
I opened it up and plugged it in
Took a record and gave it a spin.
I lowered the needle onto the disk
And filled the room with the sound of music.
My little son’s eyes were wide with surprise
As he watched the needle dip and rise.
“How does it work?” he whispered in my ear
And I realized I didn’t have any idea.
The other day my grandson
Asked me quite a question:
Had his father ever been
A little boy like him?
I told him, “Sure he was.
“Why ever do you ask?”
He whispered, “Just because.”
And silently he sat.
His innermost thoughts
He was keeping to himself
So I can only guess
But maybe I can help.
He was born just yesterday
But he’s ten years old today
And believe me, Son, I know
He’ll be thirty-one tomorrow.
I can stand and make excuses
For not playing with my kid
Or I can tell him what will happen
If he does what I did.
What I’m trying to say is this:
If your not careful, Time will slip
And it takes so much with it
You’ll be left with what I missed.
I only hope you listen
So you never understand
What it means to miss the boy
Who grew to be a man.
The boy was about ten years old
And to mow the lawn he had been told.
But the gas can was empty
So he took it across the busy street
Down the road and up the hill.
He gave the man a five-dollar bill
For enough gas to get it filled.
Being carefull not to spill
He carried it back down the hill
Up the road and across the busy street.
But now the can was heavy.
He would be tired when he got back
And he still had to cut the grass.
A car races by.
The dog does not stir
Just raises an uninterested eye.
There was a time when he would have chased the car
But not today.
These days he doesn’t run very far.
The dog remembers a time long ago
When he was young and the boy was small
And running toward the road
Toward an oncoming car.
Thanks to the dog
The little boy didn’t get very far.
He had been knocked down flat
Before reaching the street.
The dog always chased cars after that.
A car races by.
The dog does not stir.
It was on Wednesdays that we would go
My father, my brother and I
For a trip in our little boat
Across the lake to the ice cream place
For chocolate chip hot fudge sundaes.
I remember the way the fudge dripped
From the overflowing dish;
The way the cherry slipped
Down the mound of whipped cream
Piled so high.
It seems so long ago
Since we took our little boat
Across the lake to the ice cream place
For chocolate chip hot fudge sundaes
With whipped cream piled so high
My father, my brother and I.
