Taboo

Taboo. How thrilling, absolutely exciting it

can be to do that which you have been told

not to do. Taboo...the word itself sounds so

foreign and exotic. Why, it rolls off the tongue

with such unbridled eloquence. Taboo—to

willfully do that which you have been told

you are not supposed to do. As a child well

into my age of knowing, I ate a hot dog for

lunch while at a friend’s house. It was on a

Friday, I recall, and I being raised a Catholic,

was prohibited from eating meat on Friday

at the time. The day of the week had slipped

my mind. And later that day when I thought

about what I had done, I feared my heinous

act would surely send me straight to hell

should I die before I could make a sincere

confession before the priest at my church the

next day on Saturday. My friend was raised a

Protestant, and because he was of a different

faith, he could rightly claim immunity from

any wrong doing. Not fair! For me, Father Sullivan

would likely give a Penance of making a good Act

of Contrition and three Hail Marys. Hellfire, had I

only known that, I may have asked my friend for

another hot dog. Ah taboo, the sinfully delicious-

ness of you...Pass the mustard, please. Gladly, I

would fall to my knees, bow my head and faithfully

recite six Hail Marys for that. Taboo, sometimes

for me and not for you. Go figure?

Chris Hanch 3-29-18

Bury Me Not...

Some prefer a “proper burial”—you know,

flowers, casket, weeping mothers and daughters,

biblical chapter and verse, pallbearers, and all

the rest. Others figure, in the end cremation,

without all the fuss and expense gets the job

done. As for me, personally, I elect the latter.

With far greater convenience, my ashes should

fit appropriately into a cardboard box. Anyone

who so chooses could easily hold my remains

in their hands. And considering the life I have

lead, the ash of my new existence shall weigh

relatively nothing. Oh, and no Amazing Grace,

please. A lively, Freddy Mercury, rendition of

Don’t Stop Me Now would be fine…

I'm burnin'

through the sky yeah 
Two hundred degrees 
That's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit 
I'm trav'ling at the speed of light… 

Chris Hanch 3-28-18

A Matter of Taste

What does it say about you when the
old fishing trawler is more appealing
than the multi-million dollar yacht?
And when you are drawn to the rusting

truck in the junkyard, and scoff at the
brand new Lexus passing by, would others
question your sanity? Your appetite for a
good pork chop rather than ordering the

choicest of steaks, may lead some to
shake their heads and claim, you’re nuts
and making a huge mistake. You can’t
help it, you see the beauty of randomness

over the fastidious structure of regulated
order. What does it say about you when
you find the homeless person has a more
compelling tale to tell than the boasting

rhetoric of the billionaire? To you, cotton
seems a more comforting fit than satin or
silk. A sincere smile and kind word mean
more to you than does a day’s pay. It does

not take much to please you, does it? Your
child’s kindergarten drawing with its lopsided
house and blazing pink sky amazes you. And
the refrigerator seems a fitting place for its

display. You’ve always felt that the Louvre
was overrated. Besides, the fridge is much
closer to home. Eat your heart out, Monet!

Chris Hanch 3-27-18

Rosé of My Mind

Little did I know that years ago these days
would eventually catch up to me. Indeed, there
were signs along the way—days, months and

years slipped away—times carelessly set aside,
forgotten and ignored. What inspired me to take
your picture then? And what now, after all these

years has brought me to this cellar of mindful
fermentation to seek and savor this vintage
revelation? Little did I know years ago, that

in this my time and place, I would be holding
your picture, wondering where you are? And
how it is that I have grown so old and gray in

my remembering? As with any fine wine, aged
to perfection over time, today is the day I pop the
cork, releasing the sweet fragrance of your mellow

bouquet. The label tells a story: For rain and shine
for you and me measured harmoniously, it was a
very good year.

Chris Hanch 3-26-18

Seven Burma Shave Signs From Life

Faith

Hope

Love

Hate

Despair

Fear

Laughter

Tears

Advance

Retreat

Line

After

Line

Biding

My

Time

And...

A

Bunch

Of

Other

Stuff

Is how

I got

Here.

Chris Hanch 3-23-18

Where I'd Prefer to Be

At the end of all days, some will say,

heaven or hell arrives; others claim,

reincarnation, a transformation from

who you were into a new lifetime of

earthly being. Heaven or hell is for

eternity; reincarnation recycles a soul

until some optimum purpose is achieved.

Then and only then can Nirvana be

perceived. Happy Hunting Grounds as a

finale sounds pleasing should it be, at last,

finding some eternal peace. For one in this

lifetime I happen to occupy, I would not

be satisfied with either a permanent situation

or having Ground Hog Day do-overs until I

get my existence right. Personally, I’d prefer

bidding all you folks, Good Night. Oh, and

will the last to leave please turn out the light.

And could one of you kindly scoop up the

crap in the litter box. For when it’s all said and

done, you see, a fresh and clean place to go is

all I’ll ever need.

Chris Hanch 3-22-18

Countdown by the Numbers

Everywhere in the world, every minute of each
and every day, there is a countdown going on.
Can you hear the clock ticking?

With your own eyes, can you see the numbers
slipping away by years, months, days, hours,
minutes, seconds?

There may be a race to be run or a rocket on
the pad prepared to launch. We seem to be
preoccupied—If only there was more time.

Foolishly, we keep trying to amass and achieve
more and more, ever increasing our activities
needing to pursue.

See that fellow over there on the hill? He has
his hands on the detonator at the ready. I do
believe he’s looking over here at you and me.

Which one will it be? Gives one pause to wonder—
Is that a countdown we hear? Indeed, today may be
the day. By the numbers...5...4...3...2...1…

Chris Hanch 3-21-18

The Same Old Crazy

Your days are numbered. When

you reach a certain age, let’s say

those left you are days of mundane

gray. Is it not a wonder then, in

repeating the same old, same old,

you feel you have outlived days

filled with baskets full of new things

you are able to do? Ah but, you

awaken again anyway, and today

you sense a change. For certain,

this will affect you. Renewed are

those jack-in-the-box days of your

youth with pop-up surprises which

follow a pithy plunky-plunk music

box tune. You crank the handle

knowing exactly what to expect

next. Certainly, it will be that silly

springing clown again, and yet you

still chuckle at that the same old,

boiler-plate shtick. It brings a tickle

every time. Tell a friend about it

and they will likely say you’ve been

struck mindless in the graying days

of your old age. Is it not a wonder

then, electronic technology not

withstanding, simple joys such as

this have endured such a long,

long time? And that in mind, you

smile the glee of a child, discovering

that you are the same old crazy

you have always been.

Chris Hanch 3-20-18

The Sum Total of Me

Ever ask yourself the question, how in the
world did I get here to be situated in such
a time and place? Some will claim God
had a hand in their creation; others will

say mother and father conceived the whole
bright idea biologically one night with lust
and passion on their minds. It could be
said that arguably evolution was the root

cause of all which began long ago with a
big bang detonation. These, most assuredly
are factual, supernatural and theoretical
explanations which may have placed us

where we have come to reside in our
particular place and time. At birth, I
surmise that I opened my eyes, took a
deep breath and cried…What on Earth

have I gotten into? And, finding myself in
this unwitting dilemma, I decided to take
directions, what I came to believe as sensible
advise from those who preceded me.

Go straight ahead, and when you get to the
four-way stop, pause and take a left. Miles
ahead there will be a water tower marked
Destiny, proceed with care at a cautious rate

of speed. Take the on ramp at the highway
headed East. We were once told by Horace
Greeley to go West, but things have changed
a lot since way back then. Confused and lost,

I told myself it would be wise to turn around,
head back home and start over again. It would
take years for me to get to know who Horace
Greeley really was. First, I had to learn about

that déjà vu thingy playing over and over again.
Yogi Berra gave some sage advise I took each
time I was faced with a fork in the road. (And to
boot, soothsayer Yogi was a damned good ball-

player too.) I must admit, however, that I do not
find myself in this day and age exclusively from
the directions given to me by others. Indeed, I
have made many choices on my own for all

they’re worth. I could blame mother and father,
an omniscient creator I have known only through
chapter and verse (biblically speaking), or perhaps
that provocative Big Bang Theory which got me

going in the first place. Nonetheless, here I am,
steeped in the nescient stuff of which I have
come to be, writing this to you...herein, my not
so fantastical soliloquy.

Chris Hanch 3-19-18

Excesses

Picture the tortoise, beneath the shell it

carries everything it has learned through

millennia of evolution, everything over

a lifetime it will ever need to know.

Take the crow, it has taken to the wing

leaving all of its gatherings behind. And

beetle has no need to contemplate or save

for yet another day. For all these, simple

are their ways. Now, take me, for instance,

I save boxes, those convenient carriers of

things I may have bought and received. I

stash them on an upper shelf in the closet,

figuring they will live there until I find a

need. (And please realize, my friends, I do

have needs now and again.) One just never

knows when the moment will arrive, for

either storage or gift-giving, I will find

those boxes necessary for that which I have

bought, found or been given to put inside.

The time will come, I’ll say. Life does present

itself with such events that way. And should

I decide to move to another place one day,

who can rightly say, I may find those cardboard

containers too small or an unsuitable fit for the

task at hand. Just more excess baggage, I

may claim. Who can say? There and then I

could decide, screw it!... And I’ll pitch the

whole damned lot away.

Chris Hanch 2-17-18

Trails We Leave

In our lives we each leave our trails.

Some blaze the way for others;

others still barely leave a broken

twig or a footprint in sand. Everyone

knows the resilience of sand, able to

heal itself from intruders as if it has

never been encroached upon at all.

It freely receives the cleansing wash

of surf to remain pristine. You recall

that heart you drew for your lover

on the beach the other day? It has

since been erased, washed away as

if it never happened, leaving not a

trace that you and your lover were

ever there, expressing your innermost

desires. Sand on the beach remains

swept clean at the ready to receive

new lovers such as you. This ensures

that one generation will follow

another—trails and expressed

desires rekindled anew each day.

And then, there had to be the joker

who thought he’d be clever, etching

some obscene words in an attempt to

impress his friends. Who on land or

at sea with an ounce of decency would

want to follow his lead? There are

reasons beyond our imaginings why

the beach is frequently swept clean.

Chris Hanch 3-16-18

A New Reality

I checked the calendar—Yep, March 15^th, 2018.

I looked into the mirror this morning, not

expecting a lot—Just lucky to be alive, I suppose,

after nearly seventy-one years. I took a deep

breath and kicked my ass, figuratively speaking,

into low gear. (The overdrive of my youth has long

since failed to engage.) There are no mountains

left for me to climb. No biggie, didn’t bother to

achieve those staggering heights even in my prime.

Never saw that running for exercise got me any-

where I cared to be. Could have been awarded

blue ribbons or gold medals should there have

been events scheduled in Sedentary or Just Plain Lazy.

Actually, folks, given the alcohol and cigarettes I’ve

consumed in my lifetime, considering the copious

amounts of sweets and fried foods I have devoured,

I believe I have set a new standard for living and

longevity. In me, you see, clear evidence of what

over a lifetime of personal physical and psychological

negligence can be achieved. I am living proof that

in this day and age of physiological awareness and

medical advancements, the 70s for me at least, has

become the new 80s.

Chris Hanch 3-15-18

If You Knew a Man Who...

If you knew a man who

filed for bankruptcy 7 times...

who married 3 times and cheated on his spouses...

who had 5 deferments from the military during

the Vietnam war…

who blatantly and consistently displays racial tendencies...

who openly admires dictators and murderers around

the world...

a man who refused to pay contractors for their work...

who bragged of sexually abusing woman...

who has been accused by more than a dozen women

of unwanted sexual advances..

a man who has paid off women for non-disclosures

of extramarital affairs...

who belittles and demeans his opponents, the disabled

and those who dare disagree with him…

a man who has scammed the general public time and

time again with his bogus ventures, sub-standard

products and fraudulent services...

who has used his office in government to advance his

personal agenda and wealth...

a man who lies every time his filthy mouth moves...

who brags about his intelligence, his personal looks

his prowess and demeanor...

a man who undermines the Constitution, questions the law,

constantly denigrates the honor of his office.

Would you invite such a man to sit down and have

a beer with you, invite such an obnoxious narcissist

and despicable person into your home and introduce

him to your spouse and children?

Would you have anything to do with such a loathsome

human being?

Have you wondered who in hell in good conscience,

claiming a modicum of moral and ethical values would

ever cast a vote for such a slimy slug to be President

of these United States?

There is really no need to name who, is there?

You and I know who, and the world knows too.

Chris Hanch 3-14-18

Murder

You don’t condone murder,

although you know it happens.

Sometimes the need outweighs

what you believe. And suicide

is not an option, That kind of

murdering oneself you have

been told will send you straight

to hell. This is not the way you

wish to spend eternity. Some

folks, the really bad ones, say

those who kill indiscriminately

deserve to die. You have known

some of these loathsome folks

in your life, but murder? Perhaps

killing, just a little or only one

time would be justified. All of us

have a particular someone in mind.

But wait, heaven for you seems a

far better place to spend your time.

Killing in war doesn’t really count,

does it?

Chris Hanch 3-14-18

Prognostication

Nothing profound for me to say today.

And so it goes with many days seen

in my lifetime. Sunrise opens the eyes.

and here I am again. It all ads up,

you know, for many of us anyway—
Day after day with nothing profound
to say. It is the way, after seventy-some
years, my formula for how not to become

rich and famous. No inductions today
into the Rock-and-Roll, NFL or Baseball
Halls of fame, no attributions for contri-
butions to mankind to be recorded in the

annuls of history for me. Just a line or
two to scribble across the page today, a
Like or emoji on Facebook to place. I did
Google myself to see if anyone else was

made aware of me. Nada, my friends.
I even use the term, friends, loosely. I
never really got to know you up close
and personally. I’m assuming, that for

the most part holds true for you. In all
likelihood neither of us will be signing
anyone’s autograph book today. (Do
folks even bother with that sort of thing

anymore?) Anyway, nothing profound for
me to say. I’m relatively sure, however,
according to my irrelevant prognostication,
tomorrow will break pretty much the same.

I’ll Tweet you immediately should there
happen to be any change.

Chris Hanch 3-13-18

Fear of Flying

I must admit,

I do have a fear

of flying.

It’s the combination

of height and speed

which scare

the piss out of me.

I’ve always admired

the hawk and eagle,

though, majestically

soaring on the wing.

What a glorious thing

to see. But no, not

a dizzying prospect

for the acrophobic

likes of me.

To be a chipmunk

is more my speed,

situated securely

on terra firma,

taking my chances,

looking skyward

occasionally and

making a run for it

when necessary

is a far more acceptable

place for me to be...

I much prefer skipping
over the rocks,

geologically speaking

Chris Hanch 3-10-18

It Came to This (1/3 x 4/5)

And they said it wouldn't last. 

Looking back in fractions, I am truly amazed
That I made it past 5^th grade math.

Chris Hanch 3-10-18

Aunt Molly

Aunt Molly had polio as a child,

and forcibly struggled to get around

on crutches the rest of her life. She

married, Edward, a good natured-man

who gave her three children; who

while driving their youngest boy to

school one day soured and decided

to keep on going. Her eldest son died

of pneumonia in his early twenties

while serving in the armed forces.

Her daughter ran away from home

as a teenager, and was never heard

from again. She once told me as a

child that we kids had no reason or

right to worry and complain for we

have no idea what real trouble is.

A few years before her death, I paid

Aunt Molly a visit at her home in

Arizona. She received me with the

cool brand of cordiality I remembered

so well—heart still hardened as stone,

face frozen stoic, bereft of even the

slightest offering of a smile. I took her

picture, respectfully aware of leaving

out the ludicrous reminder for her to

say “cheese.”

Chris Hanch 3-9-18

Today I Write

This computer remembers me,

accounts for every word I say.

This computer has replaced the

pencil and pen, and remembers

me by name. I have something

to say today, and this computer

listens to me, feel my words

through my fingers and by the

touch of every key from A to Z.

Pen and pencil forget, fail to

recognize who I am each time

I pick them up in my hand. I

can rely upon them, however,

should the password for computer

slips my mind. Pen’s ink may run

dry; pencil may need sharpening

until it is worn to a useless nub.

Ah, but computer relies basically

on the charge of its battery. I’m

running low, it warns me. Feed

me electricity! And for as long as

that lasts, I’ll promise to remember

you by name. Forget your password

and for that I’ll accept no blame.

Pen and pencil lie on the end table

waiting patiently for another chance

no matter who I am even should I

neglect to pay the ransom threatened

monthly by Power and Light. For

today, the choice is in my hands.

Either or, this or that...whatever,
today I write.

Chris Hanch 3-7-18