Ode to My Dog(s)

It took you and your kind twenty-five

thousand years to get here. Think of all

the history lived through your ancestral

lines from the wild wolf to man’s best

friend which brought you here to this,

lying fittingly in my lap, curled up as

the fury and faithful creature sounding

the alarm, warning of thunderous

commotion or fire, defending from the

threatening and unfamiliar intruder who

would breech our security, small as you

may be, mighty of spirit, though, as Atlas

holding the world on his shoulders. 'tween

you and me few words are needed; please

and thank you are not a necessity; fidelity

is understood instinctively. Wherever I go,

you follow; when I must leave you alone,

you wait patiently for my return. Should

there be a life hereafter as my eternity, I

would willingly trade all the purported

peace and tranquility, come hell or high

tide, for you at the ready, ever loyal

unconditionally, tail-wagging by my side.

Chris Hanch 5-31-18

Games Kids Play

"I’m burning up," I told my mother that morning

before school." And my throat is so sore I can barely
swallow. I don’t think I can go to school today," l
pleaded my case with the most pathetic whimper
I could muster.

Mother felt my forehead. “Hmm, a little warm. Let’s
take your temperature.” she said, slipping the glass
thermometer into my mouth. “Make sure you keep it
under your tongue,” she instructed as she went into
the kitchen to get my two brothers ready for school.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on you.”

Quickly as I could, I removed the thermometer and
placed it on the lamp’s light bulb within reach beside
the bed, being careful not to leave it on such heat for
too long. That was a slick trick I learned from my older
brother who used it to stay home from school many
times before.

Needless to say, I hated school most days, especially
when I hadn’t done my homework the night before.
Besides, it was a lot more fun to take the day off and
watch Captain Kangaroo on TV in the morning, take
a little nap, have some lunch, then draw pictures in
my pjs all afternoon.

Mother came back after five minutes or so had passed.
She removed the thermometer from my mouth, reading
the results with a seriously scrutinizing eye. “Hmm?”
she sighed. “It seems a little high. You’d better stay
home today. But the TV goes off after Captain Kangaroo.
Don’t you have some homework you need to do?"

I figured mother was wise to me; she was no dummy,
and certainly didn’t need a Phd in psychology to know
that I was faking. But still, you’d think a mom would be
more sympathetic to her sick child. “Do I have a fever,
“Mom? “There appears to be a problem here with the
thermometer,” she said suspiciously. “It indicates a
temperature of 108. Open your mouth and say, ahhh!
Hmmm, a little red.”

That was back in the late 1950s when I was ten-years old,
Captain Kangaroo has long since passed away.
Thermometers, given the technological advancements
made, are far quicker and more reliable today. And kids
being kids, always seem to find a way to play their
conniving games, and be the little rascals they can
sometimes be.

And when my brothers returned home from school
that day, mother allowed me to watch the Little
Rascals on TV. (Poetic Justice, I suppose.)

Chris Hanch 5-30-18

Some of This, Some of That

I have had my share,

sometimes a little

more of this,

sometimes a little

less of that.

I am made from all

the pluses and minuses,

but, I figure, mostly

the stuff which came

in between.

My share is what got

me here through the years,

some giving of

this considerately,

some taking of that greedily.

For this, you’re welcome;

For that, forgive me.

I’ll go on with my

fair share of what is left

in between.

It ain’t worth much these

days, I must admit, but it’s

all I got.

Chris Hanch 5-29-18

Memorial Day (In remembrance of the young ones lost along the way)

Never to walk, climb or run.

Never again to laugh or cry.

Never learning to read or write.

Never, never, never ever for

the first time, never ever again.

Never to love or hate.

Never to scorn or appreciate.

Never to play an instrument

or compose a symphony.

Never to paint a masterpiece.

Never to graduate or marry.

Never to stroll hand-in-hand

through a blooming garden

with a lover in spring.

Never, never, never ever for

the first time, never ever again.

Never the first day on the job,

never the last, never to

climb the ladder of success,

never to be fired or retire.

Never to be mother, father,

aunt or uncle, grand or great.

Never to win a gold medal

or swim the English Channel.

Never to eat Maine lobster

or Kansas City steak.

Never to sail or fly, to travel

far and wide, never, never.

Never to simply say, please

and thank you.

Never to mourn the loss

of a young child such as the

one my eyes have tearfully

fallen upon in this sorrowful

and tragic time and place.

Never to grow old and gray

to become weak and frail,

burdened with the terrible

weight of grief I feel this day.

Never ever again, I pray.

Chris Hanch 5-28-18

The Reunion

It was a reunion of sorts, my younger brother

and I attending a high school graduation party

for my grandson. Three-years passed since we

had last been together. Given our advancing

age it seemed as if an entire lifetime had flown

by. He, physically debased by cancer, had recently

turned seventy, and I, noticeably hobbled and

bent with arthritis, am one year his elder. Our

other brother, at seventy-three faring somewhat

better physically, but more emotionally obnoxious

of our brotherhood, was unable to attend. While in

a casual conversation with my son-in-law, he offered

a personal observation to my brother and I that we

three each in our own way favored our father in

physical appearance. Our dad, deceased nearly five

years, lived to be eighty-nine years old, a feat with

which my younger brother and I were most assuredly

not destined to not compete. I was, however, compelled

to add to the conversation how completely different

my brothers and I are given our temperaments and

personalities. And in so many ways how dissimilar

each of our lives turned out to be. And were he alive

today, I paused to wonder what dear old dad might

say? Perhaps he would admit that the three sons

he gave to the world were not intended gifts per se,

but originally came into being from irresistible acts

of lust, and the miscalculated deeds of biology.

Chris Hanch 5-27-18

Field of Play

Bills come and go, either you pay them
or you don’t. Someone behind you calls
out your name, either you turn around

and respond or simply walk away. This
day and all the others are to be wasted
or to be made. Your thoughts either turn

into action and deed or are summarily
whisked away. You have something of
consequence to say or let it go for

another day. Life is a work in progress
some may claim, for others it’s more
like a game. The ball is in your hands.

Do you run the end around, the flee-flicker
or throw a Hail Mary play? The end zone
is fifty-yards away. Your team is behind by

one, and seconds on the clock remain. 

What the hell?

Chris Hanch 5-25-18

Miracle Today

The miracle of today begins with

sunshine and the mild morning

temperatures of May. Split-tail

Martins swoop low, stealthily above

the grass. Insects are on the menu

for breakfast. The human condition

persists for me—Just black coffee,

please—no sugar or cream.

Chris Hanch 5-24-18

The Ancients

I sometimes wonder, before America was so

named and known, back when the Ancient Ones

roamed, who among them would have stepped

forward, and politically speaking, had dared to

promise his clan or tribe to make America

great again. Most would have been revulsed

at that claim. We are basically a happy people,

they may have said. Things aren’t perfect by

any stretch of the imagination, but we are well

fed and warmed by the fur the animals have

provided. We can visit the medicine man free

of charge when medical attention is needed.

And we live in our own TPs rent free. The White

Eyes won’t arrive for another 200-years or more,

so what in hell do you mean, make America great

again? What on Earth is America anyway? And

what’s with that stupid red-beaked hat you’ve got

on? Our feathers fit us appropriately fine. Come to

think of it, weren’t you the one who was caught

messing around with the chief’s daughter at the

Bison Festival last month? Pack up your belongings,

Orange-faced Dog, mount up and ride your fat ass

out of here. You are hereby ostracized for life from

this already fine society of ours.

Oh, I surmise, the Ancients would have been so wise.

Chris Hanch 5-22-18

Game Changer

The little boy cries wolf one too many times.

The window display at Macy’s has not

changed in years. The old woman complains

about her arthritis every day. One day of rain

in the monsoon season is hardly noteworthy

anymore. It’s just one more nasty tweet from

a demented president we ignore. So what, we

have seen and heard all that vile drivel before.

We become complacent and bored with the

same old, same old. Even breaking news

is the same old BS we tend to deplore. We

become inured, tend to dismiss the tedium

as the piano player hits the key of C over

and over again. We leave the ballgame in

the twelfth inning of a zero/zero tied game.

Children are shot and killed in our schools

so often these days, we throw up our hands

in disgust as Congress once again sends the

survivors their condolences and prayers

while doing nothing to legislate meaningful

change. Perhaps a Hail Mary pass is called

for instead. Our children are dying; survivors

are traumatized with a lifetime of guilt and

fear, my friends. There is no time left on the

clock for games such as these to be played.

Chris Hanch 5-21-18

Once Again, Here I Am

Awaken at 6 AM, same time and place,

new day, same pace, slow and steady as

she goes. Slip on house shoes, a loose fit,

no laces.

Coffee’s brewing, routine moves, no plans

today. Read and write, nothing profound to

say. Hunt and peck something out, anything

which comes to mind anyway.

One day fewer than yesterday to consider.

Chopin’s worries are over; his prelude No.

15 in D-flat continues to play. Sip coffee

and smoke cigarette deliberately.

Smoking will kill you one day, some folks

say. Many who made that claim have long

since passed away. House shoes are a loose

but fine fit most any day.

Nowhere in particular to go, I have been here

before. And, I shall proceed in this time and

place, keeping pace, slow and steady, smoke

rings rising, until I am no more.

Chris Hanch 5-20-18

Song of the Wild

Milk and meat, that is what ye shall drink

and eat, your whole life long should you

be crowned royalty, the lion, king or queen

of beasts. Grass and leaf are meant for the

rest should ye be born gazelle or some other

commoner such as you and I happen to be.

Left to their best instincts and own devices,
fish and foul catch what they can.

Chris Hanch 5-19-18

Mum's the Word

Some folks are in the know, and some are

willing to tell. In all my days certain things

have been revealed to me. There are secrets

which are meant to keep. Do you mind my

asking, I'm curious and have the need to know,

from whom did you hear such despicable crap?

Who on Earth would say such a thing? Some

will claim, so many questions and so little time.

There seems never an end to all the questions

which will arise? I want to hear the whole truth

and nothing but the truth. Tell me everything

you know, and start from the beginning if you

please. Mum’s the word. I’ll guarantee, your

secret is safe with me. Proverbially speaking,

my lips are sealed. Oh, I have heard that one

before. I figured it must be just a bunch of

gibberish. Tell me in all honesty—is this straight

from the horse’s mouth? Trust me, I can keep a

secret. Cross my heart and hope to die. Did it

come from a Percheron or a Clydesdale?

Chris Hanch 5-18-18

Renewal

The world has stopped, though

only for a moment or two.

This power comes to us so

infrequently. One of those

times you may fool yourself

into believing the possibility

of such a fantasy. Not the

slightest breeze, the stillness

of trees, calm waters spread

out before me. The sparkling

lake shown as glass. No need

for a photograph, this scene

may have been repeated over

and again from a thousand years

before. Or could be a sunbeam

traveling light years ahead of

me. Here there is no pain, no

anxiety, no dire anticipation

of life’s inevitability. At seventy,

the young boy I used to be steps

out of me momentarily to skip

a smooth flat rock across the

water. A widening of concentric

circles is set out into motion,

and the world renewed begins

all over once again.

Chris Hanch 5-17-18

What's in a Name?

We were given our names for a reason:

so when the teacher called upon us, we knew

to stand; when father singled us out by name

we could accept the blame; as mother scolded

at the table, we knew to close our mouth to chew.

Some fool, and I believe it was Shakespeare

who claimed, a rose by any other name…

I recall my Army days when the drill sergeant

singled me out to police the area for discarded

cigarette butts. He pointed to me with a

sternness in his voice, putting the lowly rank

of Private before my name. I could have been

someone, somewhere other than where I find

myself today, you know, had I been assigned

Paul or Robert, Stuart or Michael, even Betsy,

Margaret or Sally as my name.

Chris Hanch 5-16-18

Goodness, Dignity and Grace

I cannot change the world of wickedness

which undermines decency everyday. The

mind and mouth of venom spews rivers

of division and discontent. We all know

of whom I speak, and of the many who

admire and follow these treacherous traits

seen and read internationally. I have my

own ideals, and Lord knows you have yours.

And so, what is to be done to offset these

injustices perceived ? May I suggest this

simple deed as remedy...Name it and claim

it, my friends. Know the autocratic and

self-centered deceit for that which it is.

Defend your own democracy, respect the

humanity of others. Is what you do today

done with goodness with dignity and grace?

Chris Hanch 5-15-18

No Rest for the Weary

Year after year has passed where money was

traded for need humility was lost in tall grass
of desire bartered off for greed sunrise sunset
high tides of willfulness exchanged for ebb
tides of neglect night times on loan were

laid to waste alone so thus life at the canyon’s
edge has been lived the abyss has been visited
many a time and the hilltops climbed with very
sparsely placed punctuation between not even
the comfort of a well deserved period to afford

some rest and yet we claim success making it
nearly to the end with a semicolon in hopes that
there is something of worth to come; and here
a bit of value left to say a thing of comfort and
grace yet to gain awaiting the wide open spaces

and fruitless plains of eternity to follow…

Chris Hanch 5-14-18

A Trip to the Vet

A licking of my face. Apollo my

seventeen-year old Chihuahua

nervously wants me to console

him, wants me to assure him that

everything will be okay. I have

taken him to the vet, and he knows it.

No big deal, I wish I could explain:

It’s only a routine check-up, and to

get those horrendously long nails

trimmed to an acceptable length.

And when the deed was done, he

was relieved and tail-wagging happy,

prancing around proud as a puppy

again as if to say (were words a dog’s

way), Look at me, walking once more

stealthily quiet on padded paws

instead of that click, click, clicking

of my nails, slip-sliding my ass-end

across the linoleum kitchen floor.

Chris Hanch 5-13-18

Two Words Today

Today, two words come to mind,

two words in the vast universe of

vocabulary, I find. In my lifetime

I have heard these used now and

again. But as recollection has it,

I have neither written nor spoken

them myself. So, as my father used

to say—there is always first time for

everything. In my graying days, I

would add an addendum to that

which dear old dad (now deceased)

frequently professed to me. Birth

and death, the acts, mind you, not

the words—a first and a last—come

only once in a lifetime. And were

he alive today, he surely must agree.

I have used the words birth and death

often in my time. And I must say,

those are not the words which come

to mind this day, not the two of which

I shall now speak. Machination and

ostensibly are the culprits which have

infiltrated my thinking today. So it is

herein I have decided to reveal to you

this sublime machination of mine. The

question may then arise, should I proceed

with a recitation such as this in the future?

Ostensibly it makes sense, perhaps. But

then again, probably not.

Chris Hanch 5-12-18

Quandry

It never ceases to amaze, to puzzle—

From the time we take our first

wobbly steps on life’s journey, the

moment we grow to question the

oblique and absorb the well-defined.

When language coats the tongue, and

we transform baby babble into some

coherent linguistic stream of meaning,

when it is deemed by our appointed

guardians that we have sufficiently

matured, it is then we are dressed

for the day and shuffled off to the

institutions of our learning where we

are summarily stuffed to the gills with

a litany of words and deeds, good and

evil. When two plus two equal four,

when each sentence includes an

appropriately tensed verb, when we

can identify and delineate animal

from vegetable and mineral, when

a slap of the hand teaches us to revolt

or reach out at our own risk, it is with

these our story begins in earnest. And

thus, we are assigned the responsibility

of sorting through chaff, pile after pile

of data we have received in search of

the devious and the divine. Processes

of progress and the declination of our

species never cease to amaze, while at

the same time a puzzlement lingers. And

for all it’s worth, we are struck with

these unremarkable words …

Oh, the humanity!

Chris Hanch 5-11-18

The Exchange

Rules are the rules. According to the

calendar and astronomical positioning

of Earth, yesterday is done and gone.

King or queen, rich man or poor, there

are no do-overs irregardless of who you

are. History shows, it happens this way

day after day. The yesterday you wittingly

bought into at the time turned out to be

defective. There are no exchanges, but you

figure it’s worth a try anyway. Light in the

window ahead of you has risen, and once

again today is open for business. Hesitant

with a measure of trepidation, you inch

forward. Have your receipt at the ready, my

friend, you’re next in line. Here it comes!

Chris Hanch 5-10-18

Happiness

While watching TV the other day I heard the man

explain (and here I am compelled to paraphrase),

happiness comes intermittently in bits and pieces.

Sometimes you stop randomly making your way

through life’s trials and tribulations, and out of the

blue it hits you, and you feel the urge to say, I’m

happy. And although you know this feeling is fleeting

you go on with life anyway. There was a fragrant and

perfect rose in the garden on a warm and sunny spring

day. You stop in your tracks and recognize it for what

it is. Now, here’s the kicker—continuous happiness by

any other reckoning is called Fascism. Thank you for

the enlightenment, Anthony Bourdain.

Chris Hanch 5-8-18

The Likes of You and Me

All of us must go one day. It happens to

the best of us as well as the worst. None

of us will ever have the right to claim being

the first or the last. We who have thus far

survived will fall perhaps among the billions

somewhere in the middle. Who among us

still alive recalls the day we drank that six

figured bottle of Chateau Lafite? Or, how

about the day we planted our flag atop 

Everest? Who could forget our trip around

the Earth in a hot air balloon? And wasn’t

it a hoot, you and I atop the podium in the

Olympics being awarded gold and silver

medals respectively? Of course you don’t

because the likes of you and me never did

any of those things. No sir, no ma’am, even

our best achievements in this lifetime were

never so glorious and grand. In my time, I

have painted a few paintings none of which

ever became renown, have never been hung

in a local gallery let alone the Louvre. You may,

however, recall a silly or mundane something

I may have said or done while we were both

still alive. And should I be the one who survives

your passing, I’ll do whatever is left in my power

trying to remember your name. Ralph, wasn’t it?

No, Carl or Mike? I can still see your face all right,

but I’ll be damned in this old age mind of mine,

at this time, your name seems to have escaped me.

Chris Hanch 5-7-18