Not a Vet

My dad was drafted; never fought. His best story the one about the Lieutenant and the mud pit. It seems this guy was pretty annoying to the privates. They were out camping, practicing being soldiers. One night it rained a lot, a whole lot. The place where they were trying to sleep in tents was very wet. Then of course the alarm sounded. The enemy were attacking. It was time to move fast. The Lieut. burst out of his tent, shouting something that I have, sadly, forgotten. I'm sure it was a lot like "charge!" That's what he said right before he stepped into a foxhole full to the very top with muddy water. It almost sounded like my dad thought that made being drafted worth it. It sure sounded like he thought it made camping in the rain worth it. I'm sure that was true. In later years when we were camping as a family and it rained, it never seemed to bother him at all.

That's what I remember, anyway. That Lieutenant would be nearly 90 now. Wonder if he grew up.

Fishing

I dreamed I was fishing in the pond down the road where I grew up. I was standing on the big flat rock, the only place away from the road where you could really swing your pole because of all the trees and bushes everywhere else. My dad was with me. Suddenly something pulled on the line, I was flying through the air, and I remember thinking: this is a dream. In reality the bamboo would have just snapped. But then I was in the water and I realized it wasn't a dream. It was too realistic. I felt cold and wet, and I never do in dreams. And I was going down, deeper and deeper, and then I knew it had to be a dream. The pond is only about 10 feet deep. I was in a cave, it was dark but I could see, and a giant catfish was explaining something. It wasn't speaking English, but I knew it was trying to tell me I should have gone fishing more with my dad. And I kept saying I would have if I'd known. After I woke I thought: known what?

what am I not doing that I'll regret?

what is it about Tuesdays?

More T

Texas
Tennessee
Thelma

Please Sir, can I have some more?

1 lump or 2?

Mordant
Morbid

You trying to make a fool out of me?

farewell isn't what it's all about

Nothing is permanent,
even the things
that feel like they are;
bad poetry commemorates
every loss,
especially the important ones.