Prose Poems and short writings

Too Little, Too Late

Remember that brick in the toilet tank business? Where it was stated if
everyone in the city put an ordinary building brick inside our lowly toilet tanks, we arrant users of everything would realize an astonishing amount of savings of a highly precious resource. Remember that?

I was a little drunk that night so long ago, still, I do remember being part of the gang that ridiculed our friend for such a silly idea. I don't know why we were so hard on him, after all, he was only the messenger.

But I guess he had the last laugh in the end (wherever he is), because yesterday I received my yearly water bill, the first after the new rate increase and yes, yes I immediately put that brick in the toilet tank.


Belleveu #3

Stopped raining early this morning. It is cold and with the sun still well hidden, but Belleveu shines clean. The hanging out people are different in the winter. More hard cases. The wind off the lake discourages lingering.

My favorite son is back though, sporting a deep tan and fresh scars. He tells me he spent the summer high in the Alps tending sheep. The For Sale  sign he usually wears around his neck is gone. Instead, a bright red card with white lettering reads: For Rent with option to buy.

We didn't talk about it.

Choose The Upside

He mumbles to himself as he fires up his machine, quickly brings up the daily tabloid to wrest from its folds, so to speak, another blistering report on the world's corporate white collar elite, steadfastly insisting upon their right to commit unchallenged public carnage.

Then on to tales of Machiavellian politics and shadow wars that bitter his coffee, shoos morning optimism under the bed. Faced with madding impotence and extremely distressed, he sighs, begins stumbling through his bookmarks, torn between working on some promising writing or searching the web for porn.

Always a dilemma of the highest sort.

What's In a Name?

Well maybe you're right, I can't be sure. But in spite of all the things I've heard, or whatever I think I believe a god to be, in truth, it is some nameless energy that requires me to follow its direction.

Anything else is only a name I've learned to use.

It's How You Picture It

Years ago, I was at the doctors. He told me my prostate wasn't feeling well, and I should be aware of it's size. Talked about reduction techniques, made me very nervous.

Later I found an over the counter aloe vera plant, used to clean the plumbing, give the prostate a shine. I took this for a year then went back to the doctor. Surprised, he told me it was smaller. Described the 1 to 10 scale...examined again...compared. I didn't say anything. Let him figure it out for himself, I thought.

Two years after that, I saw him again, he checked gave me a peculiar look, but didn't say anything. I didn't say anything either. We went on to other things. In the end I told him I felt my prostate was smiling.

He was writing something as I left.

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