her hair a lovely storm,
a white chrysanthemum reflecting
in its disarray the fluster problems
caused her – she’d cock her
head and look concerned, a
rueful smile, then asap return
to tried-and-true, procedures
being a lifeline for my opposite,
who recognized and valued
simple means above all else

they didn’t tell you there would
be advantages beyond promotions,
salary and savings – coworkers you
could trust, respect, enjoy, people
with real smiles, hearty laughter –
they didn’t tell you that
acquisitions would soon break
those bonds, we all moved on,
no longer keep in touch –
just remember, it was real

“. . . I think of him as
an anti-poet, an anti-god,
a Buddha, a cure for my suffering.
Michaux demonstrated a different
method and reason for writing. . . .
He suggested another way of being,
writing, thinking, observing, so unlike
any I had experienced. . . .”

she heard me in New Hampshire,
but offered no solutions

Someone Wants to Steal My Name

unlike his counterpart in “Portrait”
(Out here, Dadalus. Lazy little
schemer), this man could stand
apart from institutions and interpret
them for high school students,
demonstrating open mindedness and
enhancing his humanity – what he really
taught was sociology of religion
and set the stage for
my further course of study

and here’s another case of
“road not taken” – I could
have followed in her footsteps
become a professor of accounting
had pageboy hair combed neat
taught tax accounting on cruiseships
under a Subchapter S corporation
established sole proprietorship for
various self-employed activities,
lived the good life in Lorane – but no

whirlwind of volunteerism,
here’s the drill: say hello to
her at coffee hour and before
you know it, you’re signed
up to be in charge of x, y, z –
projects, grants, committee
efforts everlasting make
one wary of charism like
hers, until you learn two
simple letters – n and o