My other lives

Inspired by this poem from Bridgette Kay.


Hopped a freight, saw gang in Thompson 
Falls, flatcar next track over. They liked
my car better, took it by force. No, wait...
Hopped freight into someone else's car,
who pushed me out again without my
knapsack, broke my leg, or...
I remember: clinging to moving car, one
hand desperately grabbing a handle,
slipped, lost my legs while those
startled drivers waited, watched,
horrified behind barricades. Or
did the speed freak sipping Mickey's
Big Mouths not drop me off, but
instead mug me miles from home?

Eloquently, asked blond Orphan Annie
out when snow bounced like Styrofoam.
Followed her eastward to Midwest. Sat
bouncing one child after another while
she conducted services at her church.
Or did we split angrily over my lack
of faith? I can never remember.

My epileptic buddy seized while training
for his bicycle road race, hit his head,
died. Knowing he didn't take his meds,
dedicated my life to medical counseling,
patient support/advocacy. Died early,
stress from lack of success, debt.

Indulged whim to own motorcycle.
Pretending to slalom along Woods Creek,
hit gravel, slid into oncoming lane,
already occupied by one-ton pickup.
Or did I just slide right over the edge,
mangling my body, my hopes for
being energetic weekly news reporter?

Did my heart burst when I snorted
Black Beauties? Or did I die after
doing same with PCP disguised
as so-called cannabinol? How 'bout
that time "chocolate mesc" turned
out to be rat poison, not placebo?

Millions of me's live in my memories,
branched from events gone right,
events gone wrong, events gone
different. When my editor ended
my career for once again failing
to put "ly" on adverbs. When my
employer marketed my database,
fame, money, a new career following.
When I got hired in Southern
California instead of upstate
New York. When my wife died
from cancer instead of lived.

70/100
100 poems in 100 days


Every one of those branching events could have happened, the only speculative one being the one about getting fired for not using “ly” on adverbs—although an editor/publisher could have ended my teaching career before it started when upon learning I intended to teach journalism he laughed and said, “You?”

  • I did indeed hop a freight while in college. There was a sinister looking bunch of guys on a flatbed. There could have been a guy in my car. I did hang on gamely when I tried to mount a moving freight car now way too high due to a raised railbed. After getting off of the freight, a tweaked out guy picked me up in a Roadrunner around midnight.
  • I did have a crush on that young woman in college, but too insecure, I didn’t ask her out. I speculated on her future career.
  • My epileptic buddy fortunately had his seizure on the dormitory floor, not while he was out training for the race. He’d stopped taking his meds.
  • I did slide right into the oncoming lane of traffic. It was a lonely road. I righted the bike, got back into my own lane.
  • Uh….yeah I did do those substances as described. The capsules at the end only had chocolate in them, not mescaline.
  • The rest is self-explanatory.

It’s interesting to me how I think about all of the ways my life could’ve gone wrong, only rarely think how it could’ve gone differently, and not at all how something could have gone right instead of how it went down. Does that make me a glass-half-full kind of guy? Or do some of us innately focus on good things instead of bad ones?

Friendly strangers

My friend in 2019, already 18 years toward strangerhood.
People become semi-strangers over

time, distance, lack of shared

experience. Reacquaintance

brings pain, ripping some kind of

bandage from maintained relationship.

I can't pull this string-can telephone

any tighter due to Earth's curvature,

certainly not through Einstein's

space-time fabric bending thingy.

I want old things to pop from

just-opened cans, fresh, familiar,

just as tasty as before. Is that

too much for me to ask?

55/100

Penultimacy

This poem would have been way cooler posted on August 18th when it meant more. I drafted it near midnight, and couldn’t bring myself to polish it, find a photo, etc, until today.

Second to last or final voyage out?
Penultimate:
bridesmaid
celebrated faintly.
Always announcing
never announced.
John the Baptist to
Jesus the Messiah.
Loved by writers
For its erudition.
Why this focus on
opening act before
The Headliner? Who
decided this needed
a word? Why mark
the race's last mile?

Today we trot you out
to perform yet again
your ultimate function:
forty-ninth of fifty,
thus almost halfway.
Thank you, you're done.

49/100

No poem today

I feel bad because I’m breaking the chain for real today. I had planned to write a poem as we flew eastward, but I chose to finish Hamnet instead… and sleep. Then I thought, “I’ll dash it off at home.” We walked into a house without air-conditioning! 😲😰 It was 60 degF as we walked to the Seattle airport. We dropped into 85 degrees with over 70% humidity here in Raleigh, NC… And the house was the same.

I love the East especially the southeast of North Carolina where we landed, but I was raised in Eastern Washington where hot days didn’t carry that humidity and were balanced by cool nights. This was reinforced by our recent visit there. (Of course all the smoke from fires and the dry, dessicated grasses reminded me why I like the East. )

I will get drafting right now!

Goal

A bit trite and a bit short, but this will have to do today. An Irish stout has designs on my mind!

August 2026
Adrift, but found
my course plotted
without my ken,
without approval.
Yet when my course
pointed me to
where I'm now,
I found this port,
suited me just fine.

47/100

Mental vacation

In another poem I’ll try to convey this weird feeling I have that a pretty decent vacation isn’t going that well. This moodiness infects me on quite a few vacations, and I joyfully welcome all the times I just seem to go with the flow and have a great time, despite inevitable setbacks. It seems enjoying yourself takes precedent to enjoying the vacation. Today, I’m just trying to capture today.

Gray whale tail off Yaquina Head, north of Newport, OR. August 2026.

Another paradisiacal day

surrounded by memories,
good, bad, indifferent.
golf, tantalizing money suck;
couldn't do it now anyway.
constant gray weather
wearing her down,
then wearing me down.
whales! no, just rocks.
but birds: familiar,
strange, tiny, grand.
trip's end trips up more
often than not. "What
do you want to do?"
"I dunno. What do you?"
Bumper-to-bumper others
live out their dream while
we duck into breweries.
No dinner plans almost
equals no dinner. "What
should we do tomorrow?"

46/100

Poem #43

It’s…a poem. Conceived while driving 35mph around turns, barely speeding up on a short straightaway, then braking for the next set of chicanery.

Rumble Strip

Rumble, grumble, rumble strip.
Tell me I've transgressed.
Painted lines define my limits
but frankly, I protest.
Sometimes you hide between
those lines, sometimes you
sit right on them.
We won't discuss your shoulder twin
who keeps me on all roads.
On this mountain highway,
full of twists, of turns,
it's not too likely I'll nod off,
bored, but still you're stern.
Worse than my car's lane-keeping
notes, which shrilly scold just me,
you warn each transgressing car
so non-discriminately.
I'll mention briefly how you blind
when rain sits in your grooves:
when puddles bounce bright sunshine
into my eyes--so rude.
In short, your presence seems
quite useless on this twisting mountain road.
Why don't you haunt our cities,
and quit this useless scold.

43/100

When hippies run hotels

An in-person reaction….

colors add nothing
to dim lighting
dark wood panels
evoking creepy scenes
of disciplinary
sessions. Spa-like
ambiance collides
with strict Catholic
teachings. "how
many days will you
be staying with us?"
Bars (plural)? Sure,
tolerated then, now.
Amoral 'cosmic
travelers'? More
problematic. Why
wonder about your
nightly bill when
surrounded by such
groovy wonderfulness?
Apologies for the lack of editing. August 2026

42/100

Smoke ’em

This one’s a definite work in progress and likely an opening act for something much larger, perhaps joined to another couple I’ve written lately.

Looking SW at Vantage, WA. Look closely and maybe you can see the Columbia River. Perhaps you can see the bridge for I-90 across the bridge? Surely you can see it! It’s a half-mile long, right there in the middle of the photo. How about the ridges on the opposite side of the river? Photo unretouched. August 2026.
"Smoke 'em if you've got
them," and baby, do we.
Fires ravage more than
brush, trees, meadows.
Fires ravage lives, plans,
communities. Where smoke
lies, fires burn: why don't
I see smoke in my mirror
each morning? Where's
smoke as I gaze on my
love? Doesn't smoke
envelop me when when
I read or hear headlines?
How can I see out of my
car, encountering those
who lack driving skills?
How can we see our dawn
when fires surround us?
Our world's on fire,
yet we bemoan smoke.

40/100