Biologically Me

Being of a certain advancing age,

I rise to another day—one more than

I had yesterday, one fewer subtracted

from the inventory than I shall have

tomorrow (should my tenure here

on Earth be extended).

At this point, I have little to gain, as far

more of me shall drain incrementally

from the molecular biology of my being.

It is now that I understand (in scientific

terms) that the soluble properties of me

have been meted out and dwindle with a

precise degree of certainty.

Shocking! In short, I am progressively

dissolving microscopically, albeit naturally.

Chris Hanch 4-30-17

The Process

If you saw me today, you might ask,

What in hell happened to you? And

I would tell you that since we last met

(which was several years ago), I was

Bitten on both ankles by a rabid badger;

I was pecked repeatedly in the eyes by

An emu passing by. Just how many

Years has it been, I would ask because

My condition depends upon where or

When we had our last encounter? A

Couple of years ago, a rotating windmill

Took me off at the knees. Three or four

Years back, my face went through an

Atomic attack, Since then I have never

Been the same. You may have noticed

How many years the President ages the

Longer he holds office—graying hair and

Wrinkles invading his face. Stress has a

Great deal to do with the aging affect,

All the experts will agree. As for me,

Smoking and drink have accelerated

The process, I’d say. And consistently

Breathing in and out each day has defi-

nitely been a contributing factor at play.

I just added the badger for effect. With-

Out that detail, my condition would

Seem far less dramatic. Life becomes

More exciting when you introduce an

Outrageous event or two into the mix.

The windmill thing just doesn’t ring

Authentic to me. And to casually admit

That I’m seventy years old, what in hell

Did you expect? Well frankly, that would

Be just ho-hum boring. Besides, should I

Meet you by chance on the street after all

These years, I would most assuredly have

My questions of you. What on God’s green

Earth, Old Friend, has happened to you?

Let me guess...You’re a work in progress too.

Chris Hanch 4-29-17

Rules which Apply

Rules. We obey them when we choose. In some cases,

Should we not comply, we loose. Should the rule be law,

One could be subject to a fine or some jail time. There

Are basic rules in tying your shoes. When tied properly

The strings will abide and keep the shoe and foot snug

And fitting. As a student in primary school we learned

That vowels are A, E, I, O, U and sometimes Y. Fly, Sky,

Try, and others such as Why explain the rule here that

Applies. And the plural of “applies” happens to be “apply.”

That’s a whole different rule in which the Y may or may

Not apply. This all involves the complexities and idiosyn-

Crasies of the English language. I brought this rule to light

In order to use the word, idiosyncrasies, which is not that

Easy to spell or apply, but it does include as a vowel,

Mind you, a Y.

Chris Hanch 4-27-17 

Ready or Not

It took a lot to get me here. It took a lot to

finally make up my mind. It took a lot to

sort through my belongings and pack my bags,

leaving behind what I did not need to bring

along with me as basic necessity.

Some may think it should have been easy,

but believe me, it took a lot to get me here.

It took a lot for me to uproot my deeply

seeded beliefs, to take on a vision which

initially seemed completely foreign to me.

To do such a thing, for me at least, took a lot,

moving from the secure field of familiarity

into that vast ocean of the unknown. It took a

lot to leave behind everything I had ever known.

At the time I was green and only seventeen.

It took a hell of lot to walk out the door and leave

my home behind. Looking back on it after all these

years, one tends to forget what it actually took to do

what needed to be done. And by god, whether ready

or not, sometimes it takes a lot.

Chris Hanch 4-25-17

Revelation

There is a comfort in talking about old times.

Often, even the worst of times are appreciated

In their passing. I find myself most at ease when

Remembering the way things were over time.

Relaxed in thought, even sore shoulders and

Aching hips temporarily relinquish their pain.

Granted, that which was can never return the

Same. Yet the spirit of certain moments can be

Be resuscitated and in some fashion revived. So

Then, the human condition must rely on the mem-

Ories of our lives. I cannot say for certain, but

When closest to death we may at long last in

Vivid detail recall the moment of our birth. I have

Been told by reliable sources that it was on a rainy

Friday, the 4^th of April in 1947, the day I was born

Into this ephemeral form of flesh and bone. Perhaps

This is why on every rainy Friday for the past seven-

Ty years, I have had conflicting emotions of renewal

And loss. I have come to believe that only during

Birth and at the moment before death, the true meas-

Ure of life is revealed. And everything in between is

Cast as merely the folly of a contrived state of mind.

Chris Hanch 4-24-17

From Where We Came

From where we came leads us back. This is

Why we look up to the stars in wonder.

Everything that grows, the grass and trees,

The elephant and gazelle, the roach at rat

Know instinctively, biologically which way

To go. This is why the cat and rabbit need

Speak only with their eyes. Oh, there is the

Occasional yowl or meow (every living thing

Needs to be heard once in a while). I’m hungry,

Feed me. I’m unhappy, dissatisfied, my reality

Is once again out of reach. Come closer and listen,

Mind what I’m saying. The world, this life is not

The only place. Soon, all which is shall vanish

And once again will be replaced. A star explodes

And a super nova seeds the universe anew. I love

You are mere words we choose to get us through.

It is in the depths of silence that signs of life and

Light will continue. See that rock lying on the bank

By the river over there? Move in closer. Touch and

Feel its cool smoothness. The passing current com-

Mands us to listen. Need I say more? As grains of

Sand, you and I have been here many times before.

Chris Hanch 4-23-17

A Reality Check

And so, here you are. Surprised? Amazed? Delighted? Befuddled?

It is not that you deserved this. You are here past your seventieth

year. You are willing to bet that the hundreds of Hail Marys and

Our Fathers you recited as a child had nothing to do with your

longevity, even though they may have helped at the time. So then,

it was the temporary distraction from reality which allowed you to

go on.

Had you eaten meat on all those Fridays of religious prohibition

growing up, surely clogged arteries may have caused an earlier

demise. Could it be then that it was an abiding faith which got you

to this place in time? Look, there’s more to it than carrying a rabbit’s

foot in your pocket or wearing a scapular of St. Christopher around

you neck.

In your time, you have known kinder, more intelligent and savvy folks

than yourself who left this life in an unreasonable and untimely manner.

Besides, there have been children, as pure as gold who were never given

the chance to fulfill their potential, those who possibly may have con-

tributed unselfishly to the betterment of all mankind.

And so, here you are—Fortunate?​ Lucky? What about that bus which

nearly got you crossing the street, or that random bullet you never saw

which missed your head by inches? Over your lifetime, you have con-

sumed alcohol to excess, smoked cigarettes for nearly 60-years. You

have gluttonously stuffed your gut with mega-tons of all the unhealthy,
heart stopping slop imaginable. You have cursed, spat, kicked and
screamed your entire life, and here you are.

Even a million more Hail Marys can’t help you now. You are deserving of

the pain which comes part-and-parcel, and is commensurate with a person

of your advancing age and waning condition. Stand up and face it like a

man! You are a prime example of a living testament to the adage, “Only

the good die young.” In any case, you are here and now. And tomorrow

(should it become available), we’ll discuss your rightful place in the over-

all Universal Scheme of Things. For now, any questions?

Chris Hanch 4-21-17

Morning Composition

Thinking about oxygen I breathe;

Thinking about nitrogen added

Making the sky reflect blue.

Thinking about what it takes

To make each morning I wake.

Thinking about chlorophyll—

The green of lawn beneath my feet.

Thinking about condensation and

Evaporation, about the morning dew.

Thinking about each blade of grass

Ornamented and bowing gracefully

With a tearful drop or two.

Chris Hanch 4-19-17

What's in a Name?

We may surely all agree, there was but one Plato,

And likewise a single Socrates. In school, we were

Taught that Shakespeare was one of a kind, that

The mold was broken after the likes of Beethoven.

Newton and Einstein had a unique standing in the

Annuls of human history. With whom could one

Compare Mark Twain and Ernest Hemingway?

Then the issue of you came along.

You never made it onto the cover of Time, were

Not taped for that segment on the local 5 o’clock

News. Going to work everyday and mowing the

Lawn weekly never won you any profound acclaim.

Had you not been introduced to your neighbor that

Day, few would even know who you are. Admittedly,

Most folks are not very adept at remembering names.

Besides, Bob is a fairly common handle these days.

In reality, there are probably millions Bob’s in the

World today on whom to pin the blame. This could

Turn out to be your lucky day. Seems as if you have

Always preferred to go by Robert anyway.

Chris Hanch 4-18-17

My Dream

In my dreams last night, I spoke to my dead father.

He nether answered me nor could he look at me

Directly. Is there peace and happiness where you

Live now, I wanted to know? Unanswered, just a

Rigid distant gaze. It was the same for him as it

Had been years before he died—no words, no emo-

Tion. And this condition was now meant to be his

Eternity. In life for him it was much the same. He

Never spoke of home. The silent desire for place

Would always remain. Many have told me that I am

Like my father in so many ways—same solemn fore-

Head, same stalwart nose, and that remote look,

Our shared, aeonian longing for home. In my mind,

Dear Father, the search shall carry on faraway

Somewhere beyond the memory of stars.

Chris Hanch 4-17-17

Hope

So, I can’t complain; no one is to blame. I’m sure my parents

And grandparents had their dreams and meant the best for me.

Life is all too often a difficult vehicle to maneuver. Mostly,

You get off the highway and find yourself relieved that you

Made it home alive one more time.

(Now this brings out the cynic in me.) I have often mentioned

Life’s flowery bouquets handed us along the way. Sometimes,

Though, I feel as if I’m alone praying to a God who is indiffer-

Ent to my ardent pleas. Curiously, He’s always portrayed open

Armed at glorious peace with that reassuring halo-glowing hair.

But still, regardless of all the pitfalls to bear, we the people find

A continual need to cultivate some semblance of spiritual hope

From Nature or from Above. Having worked in a nursing home

Years ago, I saw what it was like to carry the weight of old age or

Chronic infirmity, saddled with the associated loneliness and pain.

There were many who awoke each day and went on breathing

Laboriously in and out as if nothing really mattered anymore.

And then there were a few who saw the flowered meadow by

The tree-lined stream, who surveyed the distant hills beyond,

Who would point saying with a hopeful measure of surrender:

“When it’s my time to go, I’d sure like to be buried over there.”

Chris Hanch 4-15-17  

Same Time, Same Place?

All of us have the answers which never seem to

Make it beyond the barroom. You know what I’m

Talking about. Everyone has been there. It all made

Sense, perfect sense last night slamming shooters

Over conversation. Sure my words became a little

Slurred after a while, but you, my friend, managed

To keep up the pace. Seemed you were in perfect

Agreement with me about that Syrian refugee thing

Up until until you wobbled and fell of your stool.

Things got a bit more unsure after that. By the way,

Which one of us picked up the tab last night? We

Had a great time. I’m sure we got a lot of the world’s

Problems resolved, But today, I’ll be damned if I can

Remember. Was your wife pissed when you got home

So late? See you next week. Same time, same place?

It’ll be my turn to buy.

Chris Hanch 4-13-17

Rude Awakening

We don’t question the engine which starts with

The turn of a key in the morning. On autopilot

We make our way to work each day. You ought

To know, you’ve done these things for years.

Without question you expect that the dawning

Of another day will follow midnight. Sleep-

Walking is what you’re used to doing most days.

It may be the little things sometimes which force

You open your eyes. Yet, when the roof is blown

Off the house you act surprised. (The attachment

Came with no guarantees.) It was that ambitious

Woman in the upstairs apartment vacuuming at

8 AM this morning, the sound of that deep throb-

Bing machine which startled my dog into barking.

For her, there was something monstrous going

On above. I envisioned a ravenous beast devouring

Crumbs from the carpet for breakfast. Where that

Leads me today I cannot say. I do know, however,

That there is a satiated Hoover resting somewhere

In a dark closet upstairs. For now, the early morning

Quiet has returned. I’m guessing the woman who fed

Her disquieting whirring device so early in the morning

Has gone off to work. Weird as it may appear, something

Different triggered my imagination today. You may be

Asking, how in hell would I know it was a Hoover in

Action upstairs? Or what’s more, it begs the deeper

philosophical question, what kind of idiot would try

Making a poem out of such a banal thing? Most days,

One never knows for certain what it will take.

Chris Hanch 4-12-17 

Change is Coming

The dogs look up to me knowing nothing of change.

Routine not uncertainty is in their DNA. Survival is key.

Adaptability is not a pending thought, only a must

Should the storm sweep familiarity away. The new dog

Dish will need some getting used to. Food accelerates

The process when a hunger arises. I, being cursed at times

With the human state of mind, foresee the abhorrent diffi-

Culty with that which forces me into the cavernous unknown.

Take the fire which consumed my apartment and belongings

Two weeks ago: The dogs had no second thoughts following

Me wherever it was we had to go. Mealtime for them would

Still be served at 2:30 in the afternoon—chicken spread over

Kibbles and Bits. I made sure their menu was secure. For me,

However, things have not been so easy. The other day, situated

In my new place and having spilled coffee on the kitchen floor, I

Remembered that I need to replace the bucket and mop. Then

I got to thinking about those photos and letters, all those fond

Memories lost. Oh, and crap, I forgot to notify the utilities, the

Bank, Social Security, the insurance company and the VA of my

Address change. I’m getting too old for this shit, and find it

Difficult keeping up with all of this. Mostly, given my age and

Tenuous physical condition, I worry about my dogs. They look

Up to me expecting consistency, unaware of life’s inevitable

And unpredictable changes to come. What do they care if I

Clean up spilled coffee with a mop and bucket or use paper

Towels instead? Damn, forgot the paper towels! That’s another

Thing I need to add that to my list!

Chris Hanch 4-11-17 

Had Things Turned Out Differently

Had I awoken today vacationing at the Grand Canyon,

I would have paid more attention to the sun. Where

Would the grandness be had the light not shown the

Geologic depths of reality?

Had I been jammed up in rush-hour on I-70, my thoughts

Would not have been on the plight of the Syrian refugees.

Hunger and suffering never dissipate just because you

Have to be somewhere else on time.

Had Beethoven not endured the loss of hearing, there may

Have been a few more symphonies. But then again, one or

Two fewer may have also been in the realm of possibility.

Today, had I arisen a few years younger and

More able to venture out and about, I may have filled in the

Blanks of my life somewhere in between The Grand Canyon

And Syria. I would definitely avoid I-70 between the rush

Hours of 7 and 9 AM. So, given my limited capabilities and

With a measure of gratitude, I shall sit with my infirmities

Absorbing some golden rays of light and warmth from the sun

While sipping my morning coffee, listening to what Beethoven

Had managed to compose as his symphonic legacy.

Had I been of optimal age and physical conditioning, I realize

That even then there was never anything I could have done to

Affect a satisfactory outcome over the Syrian refugee disaster.

That goddamn history will relentlessly continue to piss me off.

Chris Hanch 4-10-17

A Snapshot of Springtime

Sometimes it’s the flowers on a fine and breezy spring

Day; sometimes a blossoming tree. For me at least, it

could be a waggy-tailed puppy, or better yet a child at

Play which brings a smile. I am taken with the simplicity

And necessity of play, and to curiosity—the wonderment

And thrill of skipping rope and merry-go-rounds. Perhaps

There is still this longing for the perfect place in time, the

Need to reunite with the carefree child we long ago used

To be. It becomes more prevalent as we grow old, wanting

Again to feel that emotional energy for life which has over

Time diminished with our burgeoning days of wrinkled gray.

Years ago, I was in a park on a bright and sunny spring day.

I had my camera in hand while watching children at play. A

Gleeful young girl of eight or nine years old, I’d say, came

Over to me smiling. She was the first to speak, asking me,

“Take my picture, please.” (This was in the days where it

Could take days before any results could be seen.) “Take my

Picture, please.” We both knew that she would never get to

See the picture I took of her giggling giddily as she did. What’s

More, I could tell that it didn’t seem to concern her in the least.

“Take my picture, please,” spoke clearly to me as could be.

Years latter, that image is still imprinted vividly in my mind—

The sweetest vision of springtime and the boundless beauty

Of youth. “Take my picture, please. As I was then, held now

In this photograph, I’ll forever be…Remember me.”

Chris Hanch 4-9-17

As Seen on TV

Several months back I saw Robert Redford and Robert De Niro

live on TV. President Obama awarded them The Presidential Medal

of Freedom. I was shocked to see how old they had become. I grew

up watching these virile and macho-manly men on stage and screen.

About a week ago my apartment went up in an early morning blaze.

I was fortunate enough to grab my pups and hobble away to safety.

Later that day, while my son rummaged through the charred and

water-soaked remains for anything salvageable, I was approached by

a TV news reporter and asked for an interview. I gave a brief account

of my traumatic experience; we shook hands and parted ways.

That evening as I watched the 5 o’clock news, the taped segment of my

interview played before my distressed eyes. I was horrified to see the

wrinkled, pallid and frail specimen I myself had unwillingly become over

time. It was just like that curse which had befallen Redford and De Niro,

except I was not a recipient of The Presidential Medal of Freedom. And,

in my protracted stretch of time on the planet, I have never received a

single award for my acting either.

Chris Hanch 4-8-17

This Way and That

“...it doesn’t matter which way you go,”

said the cat in Lewis Carroll’s Alice in

Wonderland, “...if you don’t know where

you’re going...”

In the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy was directed

to follow the Yellow Brick Road to get

where she needed to go.

Baseball Hall of Famer and grass-roots pundit,

Yogi Berra advised, “When you come to a fork

in the road, take it.”

In his acclaimed book, The Road Less Traveled,

famed psychiatrist, Dr. M. Scott Peck, suggests

ways in which confronting and resolving our

problems can enable us to reach a higher level

of self-understanding.

As a traveler in Germany years ago asking

directions of a native in that land, I was told,

“immer geradeaus,” always straight ahead.

All too often, I have had the dubious distinction

of heading in the wrong direction on a one way

road. Confused and misdirected I have been

confronted with many a Dead End.

Perhaps I should have gone left instead of

right at that ubiquitous fork in the road.

But nonetheless I have landed here where

I am today. I do recall seeing you along the

way, traveling in a different direction.

I hope all is well, and that you find yourself

in a good place. I have never been good at

name recollection, but I never forget a face.

I suppose no matter where you wind up in

life, familiarity has gotta count for something.

Chris Hanch 4-7-17

A Sincere Thank You Bouquet

I called the florist yesterday and placed an order

For an arrangement, something springy with lots

Of fragrance and color. It was to be delivered to you,

Showing my appreciation for your compassion and

Support after the apartment fire which pretty much

Destroyed everything I own. (At least my two dogs

And I made it out unharmed and alive.) Anyway, I

Figured flowers were the best way of conveying my

Thanks for what you did to help me get through. Later

That day I called to see if the order had arrived at your

Place. And I was told no flowers were received. By

That time the florist was closed and there was nothing

I could do, and no answer to be had as to why my

Order was not filled and delivered. Hopefully today,

I will be able to get in touch with the owner and

Find out what happened. I expect, unless his shop

Burned to the ground, you may be receiving a floral

Bouquet today. If so, great; if not, I want to thank you

Anyway—a heart-felt sentiment which those beautiful

Spring flowers with all their color and fragrance were

Meant to say in the first place.

Chris Hanch 4-6-17

Doubt

I never doubt that when I wake I will open my eyes,

Stretch out my arms, position the legs and arise.

I never doubt the water I pour will percolate the jolt of

Coffee I crave.

I never doubt the pups will need taking out to do naturally

What they have held at bay all night long.

I never doubt each and every step I take to make my routine

Morning rounds.

I never doubt the music I need to soothe me into yet another

Birth which ages me with the dawning of so many days before.

I never doubt breathing in and out, the blinking, batting and

Rubbing last night’s mysterious dreamland from my eyes.

I never doubt that those monthly bills will arrive demanding

To be paid on time.

I never doubt the chair in which I sit, nor the hand holding

The pen I lift, writing the checks to Gas Energy, Power and

Light and all who supply me with the creature comforts I

Receive. I never doubted the moon which shown last night,

Nor the sun which provides this morning’s light. Beyond all

This, and as for everything which may or may not follow,

I would be the fool indeed who refuses to pay heed to the

Seas undulating beneath my feet, and I set a sail precariously

On this weighty shipload of uncertainties. Anything, my friends,

Is possible crossing the Fickle Ocean of Unpredictability.

Of this I have no doubt.

Chris Hanch 4-5-17