That Elderly Aircraft Mechanic's Lament

Gather thy nuts and bolts while ye may
For as the years grow colder
The fingers lack flex and closure
While the worms gnaw away inside

Until a husk of yourself is all that is left
An eggshell thin and fragile
Which would crack at the slightest shamble
Unable to bend and pick the FOD upon the ground

To grasp and pull upon that expensive wrench

Feels as a knife edge upon the fingers

A conundrum and conflict of a sort

For your skin turned to thick leather years ago

Too poor to quit

Too old to rehire

Is this that that awaits us

As we yearn to retire?

The Union stole your pension

The recession ate your 401K

Family emergencies sucked those savings

So you go in again every single day

Grind the corrosion

Flush patch the flaw

R&R a constant speed prop

Rig those flight controls

~A pause to sign your life away~

Account for all your many tools

Wipe down and slip into shadowed trays

Receive your Charles Taylor award

And keep on going until you can't

-FDR30JUN2021

When the Mob Thinks You Know Too Much and They Buy You a Brand New Pair Of Shoes

Come close
Lean on in
A tête-à-tête
As my feet 
Are encased
Within concrete

We'll discuss deep subjects
A universe
A mote of dust
An ounce of trust
Until our time runs out
As all things must

Remove your mask
Let me see your face
I've revealed all my secrets
Now lets hear yours
Allow me to read your lips
As sounds can be ignored

Almost time now
You prepare to push me in
One last glance
A word or two
Beleive me I understand
This is what you need to do

A moment of weightlessness
Then the water closes in
I'm holding my breath
The light begins to dim
Seconds tick by
Fish begin to pay attention

This is fine
I think to myself
As I exhale one last time
Face obscured by bubbles
Cold and quiet all around
I can think of worse places to be found

- FDR11DEC2020

Anachronistic Chronometry

Aluminum cased
Leather strap secured
Silicone and precious metals electrified
Time keeping in this modern age
Is smarter than it used to be
With apps to track my sugars
Count how many times I sit and stand
Compressing my stress
By reminding me to breathe
Telling the time is almost an afterthought
Replaced every other year

Prodded by ghostly gears and springs
Ruby bearings pressed by pin points
Spinning just one timeline over from this
Where electricity is not king quite yet
And long hands chase short ones
Augmented by compound functions
Wound with care never too tightly
Maintained by a craftsman
Passed down generationally

Faretheewell Google Plus

This song inspires something
A lyp sync battle
A half remembered hip shake wiggle
A lyrical introspection
About how this could have been you
If only you were more outgoing
And could play music
Or sing

Goodbye Google Plus. It has definitely been a thing.

The Ugly Tree

The tree was ugly

A chrome-needled creation
From the twenty-five dollar pile
At the local superstore
With pre-installed lights
Which did nothing to help its looks

Tall and narrow
To keep the cats
From perching on the branches

No star on top
To light any wise man's way
Nor a hidden pickle
For a joyous child to find

The tree was ugly

Charlie Brown would have passed
For it deserved no love
But someone did buy it
And that someone was me

A desperate plea for Christmas cheer
Falling upon several pairs
Of tone deaf ears
Leaving the tree all alone

The tree was ugly

No one gathered around it
No cats desired to play with it
No presents hid beneath its apron
No train ran endless circles around

This mostly unwanted tree was ugly for sure
A glorified vertical stick with lights
Standing too tall and narrow
For anyone to take seriously

But it is mine
And holds all my Holiday hopes for me


-FDR13DEC2018

Southside Lake St. Gunnigan

The Southside is the best side
All roads circularly lead to here
Two lanes with a gravel shoulder
An endless stream of cars seems to appear

In the North
They murder the tourists
Clicking their cameras
Wearing their Crocs
Looking for the perfect spot to Instagram
Until all the trinkets have been bought
The unique traditional recipes eaten
Local craft beers drank
It's into the tourist traps with them

To the East
Lay Changeling Fields
Where nothing is as it seems
And you are guaranteed to leave
A couple quarts low
As that sweet old man who shook your hand
Had an ulterior motive to his colloquialisms
Quaint though they be
A woven illusion is what they really were
While he and his kinfolk gathered to feed

The West is where the Mayor lives
Guiding Lake St. Gunnigan with a velvet glove
Always hiding that iron hand
That he got as a souvenir from a long ago war
Always grooming his vast estate grounds
Changing the landscaping every year
Deliveries of all that kind never seem to stop
Along with a curious amount of lye
He spreads a fine white powder every few days
Claiming it helps everything grow

The South is certainly the best though
Stay in the local Pine Log Lodge
Sit on the wide promenade porch
Overlooking the length of the whole lake
With waters primed for fishing
By artificial reefs made up of old cars
Whose?  You may ask
But that's not important now
Only that we have the tastiest Lake Trout in the region
Come for the weekend
Catch your limit

Then we'll catch you

Welcome to Lake St. Gunnigan!

-FDR08OCT2018

Bottled USA

Advancing with ambiguous intent
Powered by the most powerful ferment
That man has yet to invent
The fumes alone were enough to cloud your mind

"Oh give me a home...."
Sung out in a cracking mechanical falsetto
"O'er the ramparts we watched..."
Disconnected random lyrics layed down
Upon an uncertain melody
"Aux armes, citoyens, formez vos bataillons..."

Haunting snatches of tradition and patriotism
Distilled into nothingness
Now just comfort in a bottle
Hawked by a barker at the podium
A mobile stage rolling noisily by

I buy one
Because I must

Drinking it down
It burns away my doubt
Fortifies my sight
Cures my lead poisoning
And I can think clearly
For the first time in years

But then it passes just as quickly
So I take another swig
And the promised effects take hold
Giving me enough to chase after the contraption
One hand in my pocket digging for coin
The other holding fast to the elixir

With enough of this in my cupboard
Perhaps I can make it through yet another day


-FDR07OCT2018