Ode to an Old Sideboard

Oh humble
somewhat
battered
sideboard
fresh from
ye olde
thrift shop
delivered
into our
apartment
what stories
you might tell
if only maple
could talk
but you are
dumb (no offense)
and cannot
tell us of
your once
honored place
in an abode
of romance
and sorrow
wedding cakes
you held
or was it
just jello
salad with
carrots
and cubed
pineapple
or was it
a casserole
when the old
boy died
or was it
the old girl
maybe both
oh, oh,
tragedy
"who in hell
wants this
old thing?"
the daughter
you never
like said
"call that
thrift shop
to haul it
away," she
decreed
but we
spotted you
and thought
you fine
we'll put
a fish tank
on you
hope you
don't mind

At the Cats Birthday Party

Chee and Li Po, the twin golden tabby cats, celebrated their birthday this past weekend.

Chee: Why all the toys and tuna?

Li Po: The humans are celebrating our birthday.

Chee: What's a birthday?

Li Po: I'm not really sure but we get toys and tuna.

Chee: There must be more to it than that.

Li Po: The human's say we are two years old.

Chee: What's two? What's years? What's old?

Li Po: I'm not really sure but we get toys and tuna.

Chee: Come on. You're the smart brother you must know more than that?

Li Po: About what?

Chee: Birthdays, what are they?

Li Po: (heavy sigh) Okay. It has something to do with death.

Chee: What's death?

Li Po: I'm not sure. It's something people want to avoid so they have these birthdays to show they avoided it and so they are happy.

Chee: So birthday good. Death bad.

Li Po: I think that's it. They fear death the way we fear the vacuum cleaner.

Chee: Wow. Death must really be scary? I hope it never happens to us.

Li Po: Don't worry about it. Just eat your tuna.

-- Rich Seeley

Observing Lent in Palm Springs

Drug wars
down in Mexico
divert Spring Breakers
to Palm Springs'
near perfect
Lenten climate.
Highs in the low 80s
overnight lows
in the high 50s.
Vodka proofs
in the mid 90s.

Senior snowbirds,
refugees from
Midwest blizzards
and Canadian winters,
are also here in force.
They are old enough
to remember when
Spring Break was
Easter Vacation.
But now they go
to Indian casinos
where they are losing
their religion.

For those of us
desert rats,
who live here
year round,
Lent is a time
to reflect on
martyrdom and
how we might
personally
avoid it.

Spring breakers
are too drunk
to drive but that
does not stop them.
Decorative fences
do not stop them.
At 2 a.m. they
lose their way.
We see the tire
tracks in our
neighbor's lawn.

Meanwhile
Midwest farmers
appear to know
nothing of traffic
or traffic lights.
Right turns from
the left lane.
Left turns from
the right lane.
Do they have traffic
laws in Minnesota?
Maybe only guidelines.

My Lenten lesson
is from the book of
defensive driving.
BMWs filled with
sophomores on Vicodin,
Chevy Tahoes with
Montana plates driven
by senior citizens
doing Prozac with
a beer back;
I pull off the road
to meditate and pray:
"All things will pass."
These drivers will pass,
albeit going 80
in a school zone.

This is the season
for reflection on
personal salvation,
surrender and sacrifice.
Next year for Lent
I may give up
driving.

-- Rich Seeley

Happy Birthday Mister Frost

Robert Frost,
up in Heaven now,
was last seen
by those of us
old enough to
remember seeing
him at all,
reciting a poem
at JFK's inauguration.
Back in the days
when JFK was a man
and not an airport.

Frost at 87 then
was still a poet
of immense gifts
and a talent for
stealing the show.
Kennedy's people
fretted that Frost
would chew up
the inaugural scenery.
His poem written
for the occasion
might be the only
words immortalized
on that day.

But time caught up
with the aged champion.
In sunlight reflected
off the snow
of January 1961
Frost could not
see his own words
on the page held
in shaky hands.
His occasional poem
titled simply
"Dedication"
fell to fragments
and finally
went unread.

Yet Frost lingered
at the podium,
one last trick
left in the tophat.
He recited an old
poem from memory,
"The Gift Outright"

In his aged voice, he began:
"The land was ours before we were the land's."

Midway through
memory recalled:

"Something we were withholding made us weak.
Until we found out that it was ourselves
We were withholding from our land of living,
And forthwith found salvation in surrender."

When memory finished
the task his eyes
could not complete
the ham actor poet
departed gracefully,
leaving behind
just enough stage
for John F. Kennedy
to work his own
oratorical ways:

"Ask not what your country can do for you.
Ask what you can do for your country."

So Happy Birthday
Mister Frost.
You saved the day.
I remember you
from that morning.
You were a shaky
black & white image
on the portable TV
Miss Carlsen brought
into our English class
just so we could see
a real poet live.

You became part
of our lesson plan
on the importance
of memorizing poems
for that worst case
scenario where
our eyes fail us
and memory kicks in
beginning maybe with
"Something there is that doesn't love a wall ..."

-- Rich Seeley

What Humans Are Here For

Ananda the Canary
insists on taking
his morning bath
in his water dish.

He flutters his wings
spraying Chee the Cat
who sits below
the hanging cage
transfixed.

When bath time is over
I take the water dish
out of the cage
wash it in the sink
refill it and
put it back so Ananda
can drink out of it.

Ananda sings real good
for free because that
is what birds are here for

Paws together
Chee cocks his head
and listens to the song
looking furry cute because
that's what cats are here for

Then I'm off to clean
the cat box and
check the dry food
and water dishes
because that's what
humans are here for.

-- Rich Seeley