. . . but on the other hand . . .

Have you ever been stuck in one of those interminable meetings that seem to have no good purpose?

“An Occasional Poem in Honor of  D— W—”

When will he stop? we all wondered.

When will he at last withdraw?

After our nerves have been sundered

And after our patience is gone?

The future is but shadowy stuff,

But we agree it can’t get here soon enough!

Did you ever notice how some signs are spelled in department stores?

“Mens – Womens – Childrens”

I pity the poor apostrophe,

Soon to be lost to you and me

Through neglect,

No respect,

A minor, but significant, catastrophe.

If good fences make good neighbors, why aren’t there more good neighbors?

“Evidently”

So my neighbor decides,

evidently,

That good fences make,

evidently,

Holes in his life.

All men are brothers, he

evidently

Believes along with the brotherless

Person who first said that.

It’s obvious since he very

evidently

Tramples my tomatoes down

Chasing wobbly footballs,

Skittish clucking chickens,

Border-leaping bassets, and

Teetering, chattering toddlers.

To him, therefore, good fences

Make no difference,

evidently.

“Sarcophagus” literally means “flesh-eating”:

“Monumental”

Cold stone drains

This warm hand:

Rock eats life

Continually, but these,

Mute, can’t complain.

Everybody needs a vacation:

“Santa”

The jolly old Elf

Winters in the Bahamas

In parachuting Bermuda shorts.

Tax shelters keep him warm

While we wince against the cold.

Animals have their own existence:

“Wolf”

Life is no threat

To them without it.

Wolf knows the way,

Transhuman, not of us,

Living, dying without regret.

Travel can be dangerous:

“Alpha Centauri”

Dying to get there,

They shot in-system

At fifty clicks a second,

Kissed an antimatter pebble,

And went nowhere.

A prose fragment:

Drowsy he was, but sleep proved elusive. Stubborn night would not yield to rest. The mocking stars glinted and glanced.

The western sky had burned red, then purpled at sun’s setting, its daily energies spent, but still blessed sleep would not come.

Wearily he leaned on the ebon balcony and gazed outward. A susurrus of contentment drifted over the colony, the collective hum of ten thousand drones mingling in a soothing melody. Yet he could not share in it.

Something had to be done, and soon.

Unfurling his wings and striding forward several steps, he flung himself over the balcony and swooped down to gain speed.

Beneath him passed thousands of individual hillocks, each the home of a drone and his family.

Gentle breezes pushed and pulled him from side to side, until he glided upslope to his final goal, the throne of the Autolect, the wisest of his race.