“Be Wrong”

.. “Be Wrong” Be Wrong . That’s my advice to the Young Who always seem to be right these days. Be wrong . . . Dare to be. Make it an art form. To learn a lesson You have to first Be wrong. Be right and all you get is validation. Where’s the lesson in that? Be wrong . . . Judge people harshly. Assume they are trustworthy, decent, and moral, Let them prove otherwise. Be wrong . . . Play ball in the house and talk with your mouth full and by all means Run for the bus, there may never be another, ever. Strive to Be wrong . . . Search desperately for love As if your life depends on it . . . It does. And expect this love you will find to be your last. And if it is . . . You will live forever. Of course, I could Be wrong . . . “Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One.” I felt sorry for myself because I had no shoes . . . Until I met a man who had no feet and I said to him, “Hey, man, I was feeling very sorry for myself because I had no shoes until I saw you didn’t have any feet--” He told me to go F myself. I saw his point and felt pretty brainless . . . Until I met a man who had no brain so I said to him, “Hey, man, I was feeling very sorry for myself because I was acting pretty brainless over There talking to the footless guy until I saw you . . .” He just kind of stared at me. Now where was I? I’m sorry. I’ve seemed to have lost my point. Somewhere after ‘I felt sorry for myself . . .” “Joshua Daniel Evan Macgee” Joshua Daniel Evan Macgee was just such a curious kid, It seemed he just did not have a mouth To eat his vegetables with. But that wasn’t the worst of it, you must understand, For he didn’t have arms, let alone hands! No legs and no feet and it was often said, That Joshua Daniel did not have a head. His throat wasn’t there and no shoulders, nor chest, In short Joshua Daniel just did not exist. And that is quite that, no ands, ifs, or buts; He just wasn’t there: I made the name up! I Saw the Ugliest Man in the World Today Where else but on the C train. He had a dog’s ass for a mouth; And the disposition to match. What a lucky guy-I thought to my self, this other self, this self New York supplanted for survival’s sake, having kicked the Carolina out of me, Well, this ugly man was lucky, my self said, because, you see, he was ugly and he knew it. Probably the only thing in his life he was aware of and could control. He had that going for him. I was envious. For there was a young girl on this train, as you could have guessed there would be, luggage on her lap, wool cap drawn over her ears, tar heel blue eyes set forward and determined on a far off destination; “CAROLINA” her sweater shouted proudly from her large round breast. These things I notice, but Carolinian that I am, I keep it to myself. Unlike the man with the dog’s ass for a mouth, who with out question, had never heard of, let alone been to Carolina, in any form or fashion. And in that brief moment, I was called on by Mrs. Spradley, my second grade teacher and always eager to see her smile, I said: “Hey, Ugly Guy,” letting accents fall where they may, “There’s no reason to act ugly just because God gave you a dog’s butt for a mouth!” “You can say that again!” the dog-ass quipped. And I did. And he hit me hard in the gut. Then the class dismissed onto the forty-second street platform, everyone to their own separate journey, including the guy with a dog’s ass for a mouth, And the girl from carolina (not a typo), unaware she owed me her gratitude, But instead knowing, as I did not until then, That things bred in carolina do best there; And left me in my own little vacuous agony, lying Beneath an ad for Dr. Tush. “Young Master Robert” When Young Master Robert went down town, All the folks would gather ‘round, And for hours simply wait In hopes he might pontificate, On some small subject he held dear, Like dinosaurs or alge-breer; And if he only gave a sneeze That alone the crowd would please For then at least they could say, ‘Guess who sneezed on me today!” Young Master Robert never paid for anything the baker made, Cup cakes, pies, and other sweets were given free for him to eat. And that he ate them for all to see, Was all the payment the baker’d need. His clothes were tailored by a man, Whose taste was known, you guessed it, . . . . throughout the land, And never charged, For he could assert, “I clothe the Young Master Robert!” Yes, all young master’s need were met and then some, His life was care free, fun, and winsome, And if you wonder, as I did, “What makes him special, this Young Robert kid.” It is a secret, but just for fun, I’ll tell you, if you don’t tell any one, ‘Cause if you did, it wouldn’t be fair, We’d have Young Masters every where. Though some assumed it was his breeding, Or royal blood, or self-help reading, The reason for his fame was due: He always said, “Yes, Ma’am” or “No, Sir,” when spoken to, And when asking, “Please,” and getting “Thank you,” And always said, “Your welcome, too.” You know, things in kids these days you seldom see So it caused him wide celebrity. So now you know and that is that, Just keep it all under your hat. “Charon Crossing” I. I cannot sleep— I lay awake in bed— The only thing that calms me is the patient chirp of crickets coming down the hall— And as it works its charm I am sucked into sleep, Only to realize they all will be fed to my son’s gecko in the morning. II. In the morning— A man slack jawed-asleep beside me on my commute Among the dead all around me, As we snake over the river leading into Obligatory. The conductor, wet haired and red-eyed, takes my fare: “. . . .Tickets-pleez-tickets-pleez . . .” Looking out, I am in a silent movie, The sky outside thick with gray clouds, Saturated by a smoke stack injecting it; The finger of death, like in the Bible; Reaching down to touch the living— And the train rocks the slack-jaw And I cannot sleep still; It is then I hear the patient, merry chirp of a cricket in my bag— Who thinks He has escaped— “Hug Uncle Switzy!” Go give your Uncle Switzy a great big hug! Then run and get a towel or just wipe it on the rug! Okay, so he’s big and sweaty What can he do, the poor-sweaty-lug? Oh, it’s just some salty water Go give the man a hug! I know, it’s a hundred degrees out And he’s standing in the sun. Just one quick squeeze and then it’s over, Be a trooper just this once! I don’t know why he sweats so easy? Is it all the hot coffee that he drinks? And two parkas and a sweater Are not the best things to wear in such heat? Yes, it’s true he does sweat through his clothing So much so that at the end of each long day, He must squeeze out all the switzy and drain them all away. And the river of sweat that flows from his house can be seen running For miles and miles and miles . . . . Perhaps you might have heard of it— I think it’s called the Nile. But he’s our uncle and we love him And we must show it, don’t you see? So go hug your Uncle Switzy-Quick! Before he comes and sweats on me!! “Mountains of the Moon” I was walking down Broadway as millions have done, Neil Armstrong I was not, When the man one small step before me, Looked back and angrily said, “Are you following me?” I looked him over carefully: He was well dressed. He was intelligent. He hugged his wife before he left the house, I’ll bet, His kids, too, His mom, last they met. He was a hugger, This man one small step ahead, But he looked old, this knight so bold, As only the young can look. And bothered by so very much, As only the well off can. My guess was he was going to get his teeth fixed, After whatever hugger-mugger popped him for the contents of his soul-skin wallet And made him such a paranoid. “No,” I said, in answer to THE question, “I’m not following you, friend. But I’m not that far behind.” ‘We all have a plan,’ My daddy always said, ‘Until the first punch lands’ Now, you know, my daddy’s dead, And he died a wealthy, penniless man, With the scars to prove it, While causing so few; But his wallet intact, With more in it than what he came with: One giant leap for mankind. “Oh, Little Marie” Oh, Little Marie, where can you be? We’ve been playing at hide and go seek; She’s hid very well Where? I can’t tell And it’s been going on for a week. I’ve looked in the tub And under the stair I’ve looked outside too, I’ve looked everywhere!! The kitchen, the basement, the attic, the den, If you can think of it, I’ve checked it again and again! She’s around, don’t you see, She’s just playing with me, As I run all around like a loon. See, she leaves clues everywhere Like her old underwear, Tossed in the midst of her room; Like she’s made a quick change And, oh, sure, to you it sounds strange But I swear she took some things from my room: My magic trick box, My fuzzy long socks, And my favorite box of costumes. So don’t fret she’s around But to find her I’ve found Is not going to be easy at all; But when I do, What a day!! I’ll rejoice then I’ll say: “Let’s just do something simple now, please? A board game like checkers Or PlayStation or Heck-I’ll Play dolls or play house or have tea! Just don’t hide while I seek ‘Cause I’ve seeked ‘til I’m weak And eventually Mom and Dad might get wise! I’m not the best brother sometimes but come back and I’ll try And I’ll try and I’ll try and still try. Oh, Little Marie, while you’re hiding, you see, You’ve missed all the fun around here. Why, just the other day a new kid came to play, And the next, a small dog with brown ears! And then a little man dropped on by With a patch on one eye And did magic tricks out of his —WAIT!! Come to think of it now They all seemed familiar somehow— Now what do you think of that!! I am starting to get wise They were her same shape and same size … You know, I think I’ve been seeking But she’s been hiding In disguise!! “Advice from My Son.” “Don’t wander off,” I called to my five-year-old son in the crowded amusement park. “I’m not wandering off,” he said, “You’re just not following me.”