Poll of Indecision

I could not decide what to write
And so I devised a poll
With a selection of prompts
To be taken in part or in whole

And after the results all trickled in
Only then did I realize the pickle I was in
For the suggestions were evenly divided Betwixt sex and religion

Amorous Jesus, here I come

Hat Dance

Oh this is the way
To rhyme with Jose'!

I have rocks in my head!

And then there is Don
He thinks he's the one

But then Bang! Bang! and he's dead!

T'was a lawman named Juan
Who drew out his gun

He ground his bones for his bread!

Aye yaye yaye yaye
This is the deadly hat dance

Many More Miles To Memphis

In the year Nineteen Nineteen
When the leaves were young
Just out of budding
With all shades of green

I received a letter from my Aunt Maureen
Telling of a spot reserved for me
In the family cemetery in Memphis
Prettiest grassy spot you'd ever seen

I took her at her word
As I swore I'd never go back
Though they say things have changed
Or at least that's what I'd heard

That was thirty years past now
Back when I lived in Cairo
Cleaning tomb relics at a dig
Just after arriving fresh from Maccau

Upon hearing this news
It gave me pause to think how civilized it was
That my bones would have a final resting place
Though as a destination it failed to enthuse

And true to my thoughts and intents
I've avoided the city ever since
Having it accompany my thoughts of death is bad enough
Inspiring whatever nightmares my guilty conscience invents

What did I do that causes me to keep Memphis at arm's length?
Just asking that question is what keeps me moving
Avoiding the answer that is on the tip of my tongue
Keeping it in check with all of my strength

On to New Zealand to wrestle some sheep
I've heard they are soft round and smelly
Requiring a dull sense of smell and a vigilant eye
As they love to escape and need little sleep

Then to Japan trying to be a swordsmith
Though after making my first simple hook I gave up
Nobody had told me how long the process took
The thought that such a thing is easy but a sour myth

Now in Nineteen-Fifty I've slowed down more than a scosche
Seen two world wars come and go
And between the arthritis and tinnitus
My mannerisms only grow all the more gauche

But I have many more miles to Memphis left in me yet
Many more places to visit 
Many more professions to try
Before I'll ever see Death and declare, "Well met!"

Begging For The Click-Through

This poem's for you
But I'm not gonna post it
I'll throw a link in the space
To drive the traffic to myspace

Did I say myspace?
I meant my place
My site
My blog
My stuff
My shite

At any rate
It's all to generate traffic
As if it really matters
As I masturbate to stats
Dancing madly in the spatters

Come ON
Click on the damned link!
It's the only real reason I posted this fucking poem
Just don't put any real critique in the comments
If it ain't praise then I don't give a crap what you think

Airplane Nerds - Narrow Squeak in Seattle pt2

As my eyes adjusted to the gloomy old hallway
It's ceiling peppered with burned out light fixtures
I could hear voices coming from the old employee breakroom

We had set up our command center there
And adjourned to it whenever we needed to be away from the main hangar floor

From the sounds of it
A strange argument was taking place

Voice #1 was making a case
"No, I absolutely wouldn't allow myself to be transported
Because the me, that materialized at the destination, wouldn't be the same me that had stepped into the machine!"

"Look, like I've said, the you, that materializes is still you, dammit!
The first you disappears, and the second you appears wherever you want to go"
Voice #2 retorted with passion and annoyance

I reached the doorway and stepped inside to the breakroom/command center
Revealing the two voices to be two of the members of the RAMS* team
Voice #1 was Old Bob the supervisor
Voice #2's name was Steve I think
One of the team sheetmetal fabricators

I said "Hello" to them both
Which only got me a sideways glance out of both of them
Kind of taking the whole Batman out of my ego's sails

Old Bob continued with a more resigned tone in his voice
His grey walrus mustache bobbing up and down with his words
"Look, Steve"
I knew his name was Steve!
"It's really simple
I'm born and live my life in a linear fashion
Being me, the same person that whole time
With a clear trail from where I'm at all the way back to the womb"

Then his walrus mustache takes on a more animated dance

"Then I step into some infernal Star Trek transporter machine
Which dematerializes me into molecules and information
Sends the signal somewhere else
And rematerializes me once again!"

Sheetmetal Steve verbally pounces
Almost spilling the coffee from the cup in his hand
"See!  You said it yourself
It rematerializes YOU once again
You are still YOU!"

I clear my throat a little bit trying to get Old Bob's attention
But he is still intent on his discussion with Sheetmetal Steve
"No, I would not be ME anymore, you shit for brains!
The old, original me, was ended, eliminated, changed into data
Then a perfect copy of me was reassembled to become the new me
With all the memories of the me that used to be
And under the perfect delusion that he was still ME
When in fact, the old me was now effectively dead
With an end to his continuous existence!"

Sheetmetal Steve looked thoughtful as he sipped his coffee
And was about to reply when I interrupted them a little more forcefully
"Bob, did you get that new Mach Trim pulley bracket ordered?"

We had found the old bracket
Stuffed into the most godawful front upper corner of the nose wheel well
Just the other day while performing a routine inspection
Finding one of the spidery magnesium legs of the assembly broken

Old Bob finally gave me his attention
"No I did not
Your maintenance control is going to yard one out of a scrap aircraft somewhere
And when you get it
It will probably be so corroded you won't want to use it"

As the words flowed from under the fluttering fringe of his massive mustache
The picture formed in my head
Of me opening an overnight shipping box
And pulling out a 'new' magnesium Mach Trim bracket
That looked like it had spent the last ten years on the bottom of the ocean
It's cast metal shape pockmarked with black corrosion

"Well I don't know what else we can do
Maybe it won't be so bad once we clean it up and repaint it"
I answered hopefully

He just shook his Old Bob shaggy haired head at me
"Nope, here's what you want to do
You have your company's account number with the Boeing AOG** parts desk?"

I nodded

"Good"
He smiled under his 'stache
"So call them up and order a brand new one
It's the only way you'll know you are getting a good part"
And he paused for effect
"Unless you really want to replace it again after it breaks the first time you put tension on it"

He made sense
Though my company wouldn't want to do it
"Okay, I'll see what I can do"

I was going to say 'See you later' or something
But Old Bob and Sheetmetal Steve had already locked eyes
With something about belief in ones self being a key part of being who you are
Regardless of whether or not you have been transported Star Trek style

So I quickly made my exit towards the hangar
To go check on the Hangar Queen


*RAMS - Recovery And Modification Services
**AOG - Aircraft On Ground

I'm Batman! - Narrow Squeak in Seattle pt1

I know that Mt. Rainier is over that way somewhere
Only because that's what I've been told
Because despite having been in Seattle for a week
I have yet to see it

If it isn't the rain
Then it's the mist
Or work keeping me inside
Distracted by the Hangar Queen

I wasn't even supposed to be here
I was supposed to be out on the road
Living the life of a Rover
Or Batman
I'm going to go with that

I was Batman
Travelling around to wherever I was needed

Have a broken airplane?
I will travel to you

Like Batman
If Batman was an aircraft mechanic

My rental car wiggled in a worn out way as I pulled off Pacific Highway
Eyeballs wandering towards the Jack In The Box on the corner
But knowing better than to chance it
A little Jack faced antenna ball with it's jaunty yellow hat taunting me
Waving back and forth along with the antenna
Reminding me of the last time I'd stopped in for their food
Sickening me at the very thought

Onto a side street then into a steep parking lot entrance drive
The old Eastern Airlines hangar waited for me at the top of the hill
In all of it's faded tan painted glory
Still adorned with the Eastern Airline hockey stick logo
Which will stay there until the place is torn down

My Hangar Queen is the last plane that will ever see the inside of this place
As soon as this project is done
The hangar and attached shop areas will be gutted and removed
Another victim of progress and larger airplanes

I park my cheap rental Cavalier in a barely legible parking spot
The worn out parking paint lines
Upon the cracked unsealed blacktop
Shade loving grasses poking up through the cracks
That being the only kind of grass that would thrive here in Seattle I would imagine

I jealously look at the few other cars in the lot
Rental cars of another caliber
Two Cadillacs and a Lincoln Town Car
The Caddys were so new I didn't even recognize the model

I guess I'm more of a Batman on a budget

Making sure to grab my airport line badge
I lock up the car and make my way into the backside of the hangar
Kicking at the loose stones on the ground

The card key lock on the door doesn't recognize my card swipe
And I have to do it three times before the green light comes on
The lock solenoid buzzing as it holds itself open for me

Hauling open the heavy door
The sounds of activity can be heard echoing down the dim hallway
The Hangar Queen is getting worked

If I'm Batman
Then this is the Batcave

The heavy door snaps into the electronic lock behind me

Water Cooler Stridulation

There is a cricket under the water cooler
Who is cricketing away happily
In a really nonstop kind of way
With no mind to anything else around him
Certainly with a lot of things to say

There may be more than one of them under there
In a velvet lined dimly lit cricket love lounge
Quiet baritone cricket love songs playing on the tape deck
A tiny candle or two flickering to set the mood
I'd peek underneath but I fear the moment would be wrecked

So oblivious to any nearby footsteps or activity
The crickets doing what they do in their little love nest
Cricketing the morning away under the water cooler
Now in post coital cuddle mode
A little cricket head nestled onto soft cricket breast