UPON REFLECTION

Upon reflection, that clever
reply I made to Mervin
at the meeting when he asked
if I realized what we might
be letting ourselves in for
wasn't really all that clever.

Even though it got a laugh.

Mostly it was just . . . snotty.

WHAT I REMEMBER MOST ABOUT THE GREAT GILDERSLEEVE

What I remember most
about The Great Gildersleeve,
which came on at eight thirty
on Wednesday nights, was

how we would sit around
the radio in the living room.
It stood as tall as I was
and was the Bringer of afternoon

tales of romance and heartbreak
for my mother while she ironed
(her favorite was The Second Mrs. Burton)
and for me baseball, Tom Mix,

and The Lone Ranger.
But in the evenings all four
of us would gather for laughter,
my sister and I sprawled

on the floor, Dad on
one chair, Mother on the other,
crocheting yet another section
of the fancy tablecloth for

the dining room table.
Baby Snooks, Tuesday nights,
was my favorite. Dad loved
Gildy, the water commissioner

whose best intentions always
landed him in the kind
of trouble Dad found hilarious.
Maybe I remember those moments

because his face, so often
sad, was, for an hour
transformed into something
happy, into delight.

It told me that happiness
was . . . well . . . possible.

RECOVERY

I salute you, body,
steadfast, dependable,
too rarely praised or thanked
or even acknowledged.

How many breaths have you breathed?
How many steps have you stepped?
I cannot count, have not, till
lately, thought to.

You weaken, stumble at stairs.
I pay attention, am tempted
to complain. I have been
ungenerous, ungrateful.

Mea culpa.

I salute you, body.

PHONE CALL FROM THE PAST

Too many years have passed
for easy calculation.
Borrow ten from the left
column, subtract, and shake
your head in startled disbelief.

The conversation lurches
from mundane to awkward,
rights its feet, treads close
to danger, retreats, scrambles
to find firm foothold.

Behind the polite questions
lurk the real ones:
    Where have you been?
    Where are you now?
    Who are you now?
    Why have you called?
    No really. Why have you called?

THE WISE MEN COME TO BETHLEHEM

Surprised?  Yes.
But not surprised at Herod, that camel brain.
We figured him for the petty tyrant
most kings turn out to be.
Always the same, their outward show
-- haughty, grand, fully in command --
but underneath they tremble, shake at shadows,
see enemies behind each post and pillar.
"I would worship the new king,"
said Herod.
Hah!

No, what stunned us was this . . .
that our search should lead us here,
to wretched, barren Bethlehem.
What kind of king could be birthed
in this backwater burg?
There must be some mistake.
One last try?  Oh very well.
Let's ask around.  "Hey, you there.
We're looking for a child.  Tell us,
is there a new-born in this God-forsaken town?"

CHRISTMAS LESSON

Other children had fathers
who, as Christmas approached,
would herd them into the car, drive
them to the woods, saw down
a perfectly shaped evergreen,
tie it fast to the roof, and
lead them in a chorus of "Jingle
Bells" all the way home
where their mothers would
be waiting for them with
steaming cups of hot chocolate
with tiny marshmallows
floating merrily on the surface.

At least that's the impression
I got from the pages of Jack and Jill.

I, on the other hand, had
a father who taught
me the meaning of irony
as, observing the craziness
of harried holiday shoppers,
plodding cheerlessly from store to store,
he would chant, with cocked eyebrow,
his annual litany:
"Christmas comes but once a year
and when it comes, it brings good cheer."

My mother did not think
it was funny.

AGE OF ABSURDITY

The answering machine is
blinking.

The recorded woman's voice informs me that the
company

it represents has a line of many fine
products

available for purchase during the holiday
season.

It goes on to say that
unfortunately

all their sales agents are
busy

at the moment talking to other
customers

but I have the opportunity to
learn

about their line of many fine
products

by either staying on the
line

or, if I prefer, by calling
642-932-4655.