a year ago i was in south dakota with one of my closest friends for many, many years — rita mayer … she had a rare form of leukemia and had had a stroke a week before i arrived … i was there for 5 days, mostly watching her sleep … she was in great pain and when she died the day after i returned home, it was a relief to know she wasn't feeling that anymore … the experience was extraordinary — especially the bond which grew between terry (rita's and my long-time friend) and becky (rita's good friend from san antonio) … they were her real care-givers at the end and i tried to make myself useful … rita and i shared a lovely moment when i had to leave for the airport and say good-bye …

(for rita)

the day you died
i didn’t know
what to do with my self
how would it now be defined
without our shared history
informing it
and our frequent phone calls
supplying your incisive perspective
on what my self was
and is
and could be?

and after the awful end
of your self
in its earthly form
flooded with pain
where it wasn’t frozen by stroke
unable to articulate
the simplest of thoughts
when it had delivered
consistently complex ideas
so eloquently
what was the meaning
of self at all
when you were no longer yours?

no
i didn’t know
what to do
with my sorry self
that day you died
so i tried
putting it to work
desultory attempts
to clean the house
answer email
or address some future issue
when everything
was the past
and how we shared it

each new day
proves to be an education
surprises often opening my mind
hardships can lead to revelation
bringing insight
where i was blind
i hope to always
have a thirst for knowledge
and a hunger
for what might edify
i want to know
what can’t be taught in college
and keep learning
till the day i die

if i stay loose
and if i try
i might learn something
on the day that i die

it may not sound cool
but i always loved school
new ideas
could electrify my mind
now each day
is a quiz
about love
about biz
and making sense
of the homework assigned

if i keep striving
for illumination
if i keep open
to new stimuli
if i keep searching
for new inspiration
i might learn something
on the day that i die

i shouldn’t think so much about money
but it’s always at the back of my mind
how much did this cost?
how much have we lost?
where’s more of it that we can find?

i know that money isn’t the answer
but it consumes a lot of my thought
more dough would be nice
how high is the price?
should we have sold instead of bought?

 the earnings come in
and the payments go out
but the struggle seems to stay the same
splurging when there’s more
scrimping when there’s less
trying to remain in the game

i dream of having oodles of money
though those who do don’t seem more content
if i had it i’d share
at least what i could spare
before my better nature was spent

i do obsess the most about money
of anything that troubles my head
why is there this drought?
what if it runs out?
will it last until i’m dead?

i shouldn’t think so much about money
i know i’m kind of stuck in that rut
through the ebbs and flows
even when it grows
money is a pain in my butt

i can be bundled for tundra
thermals and parka
muffler and mukluks
thick socks and gloves
all of it warming
me to the bone
but i feel naked
without my phone

or dressed to the nines
for a party
tuxedo and cumberbund
cufflinks and studs
wearing the finest of threads
that i own
but i still feel naked
without my phone

my phone is so smart
we’re very well-matched
is there a way
i could have it attached
to me permanently
so i’ll never be heard
to say, “where did i leave it?”
or have to make efforts
to go and retrieve it?

i can wear business drag
suit it up sharply
like the best scalawag
trench coat and wing tips
button down collar
and four in hand tie
jacket and slacks
an executive clone
but i feel naked
without my phone

my mobile’s become
essential attire
more than accessory
or a toy to acquire
it keeps me connected
to e-mail and news
websites and widgets
and googleearth views
its camera is great
for catching a shot
or streamlining video
of some lancelot

oh and people
of course!
i almost forgot
talking or texting
friends or relations
is one of my hand-held’s
best applications

i can dress up
or i can dress down
ragged old jeans
or chic couture gown
but don’t take my picture
if i’m out alone
i feel naked
without my phone

i’m pretty well-cultured
i like films which are indie
subtitled movies
even in hindi
classics of cinema
filled with erudite chatter
serious subjects
and challenging matter

i’ve seen most of rohmer
bergman, fellini
hitchcock, truffaut
and some pasolini

but then my good taste
will die in a flash
and i actively search
for films that are trash

togas and sandals
rude horror schlock
brit twit comedians
weepers i mock
monsters and gories
commercial crap
sticky sweet stories
oozing with sap

i love the ballet
the symphony thrills
i’m highly impressed
by checkov’s deft skills
i seek out shakespeare
wherever i can

then high-art ideals
will suddenly crash
and that’s when i go
straight for the trash

boulevard comedies
drag queens who pose
soap opera tackiness
and big glitzy shows
even the latest commercialized smash
sometimes i really crave trash

i keep excellent company
authors and thinkers
at the top of their game
doctors, attorneys
who’ve earned quite a name
for their work
for their minds
i seek out fine artists
and creative kinds
i dig conversation
that’s heady and brash
but sometimes i’d rather talk trash

with hookers and addicts
nutcases and bums
all of the kooks
with which this city hums
the outcasts
the losers
whose bets were too rash
here’s to the pleasure
of all kinds of trash