one for the road (in memory of charles bukowski)

i keep reading this bukowski guy,

keep reading about all his escapades

with loose women while

he was drunk. and he was drunk a lot.

seems there was no end to the women

he linked-up with after those sodden

nights at the bar.

he would drink them pretty, then take

them to a motel. and next day hung-over

like hell, he realized he had made a

miserable mistake.

you’d think he would learn his lesson

one day. but oh no, night after night,

day after day the same.

one time i had a similar experience

with a woman I met at a bar.

her boyfriend left her there, walked

away because she became sloppy and

obnoxious after having too much to

drink.

still having an ounce of sober politeness

left in me, i offered her a ride home.

nodding her head in the affirmative,

and spilling her last drink all over the

bar,

she looked cross-eyed at me and

slurred, “yessir, dat would be sooo

kine of youuu.”

well, we staggered out of that place

arm-in-arm. (i myself was several shots

over the legal limit of sobriety, but damn

the law, we both needed to get home.)

i poured her into the car, seat-belted

her in, and managed to get us underway.

it took me the better part of an hour to

locate her place for she kept passing in

and out of cognizance while giving me

fractured directions i could barely understand.

“wooz youuu...(hic) wanna come in

for...(hic) a drink?” she asked me, nearly

falling as she got out of the car.

it may have been a mistake bukowski

made a hundred times over. but not i,

not this time. “thanks,” i told her.

“maybe next time.” a brain-strained

hangover in the morning was going to

be hard enough for me to endure.

now, where the hell am i, and how do i

get out of this place?

Chris Hanch 6-30-18

Who We Happen to Be

If we were to meet for the very first time,

and you were to ask me about my life, I

would be compelled to tell you that it has

been nothing exceptional, you know, pretty

ordinary in fact, could be like most everyone

else, some good, some bad. There were times

when I thought I wouldn’t make it, and times

I was smug or complacent about it all, and

of course those times I couldn’t have cared

less. I got here where I am today much the

same as any other standing in this room.

We’re the only two standing here you may

say. I know, I tell you looking around at all

the empty space. Either the rest of them are

all late, lost or didn’t make it. My name is

Chris. What’s yours. Robert, eh? I’ve known

quite a few Roberts in my day. Appears you’re

the only one who made it here, and on time too.

Chris Hanch 6-29-18

Race Against Time (for John)

I look at a recent photograph of an old friend.

Forty-years ago he was almost twenty-years older

than I. Today, given that we have both crossed

over the threshold of old age, it seems the spread

of time between us has narrowed considerably. In

other words, he looks much better than I feel. Way
back when, he would tease me about my youth. And
he was still virile and fit enough to get away with that.

I would shrug it off and laugh the laugh of a young

stud who could not comprehend the reality of old

age which (should I survive) was inevitable bound

to face me. Today, John, my old friend is in his early

nineties, and I twenty-years behind am hobbling

into my seventy-second year. At this point the gap

in our ages seems irrelevant. He has already done

with his life pretty much what he was meant to do.

And I, given my unsteady pace, am not counting

on twenty more years to get me across the finish

line. Congratulations, John, my old friend. You’ve

run a hell of a race!

Seems the tortoise beats the hare again.

Chris Hanch 6-28-18

Better Late Than Never

I arrived sopping wet and a little late

in the game. All the oceans and land

masses had already been named. I

thank God anyway that my people

took part in winning the last world

war. And heredity and biology be

praised that mom and dad got together

when they did or my appearance would

have either been further delayed or not

have taken place at all. Good fortune and

bad, I suppose. Given the way things have

evolved in my case, those issue remain

topics for debate. Late though—I have

never been praised as one who arrived

before my time. I must say, It is the

common folk with which I can relate. Ah,

but had I been born earlier as king in a

nation where royalty rules, I may have

been seated on a throne of emeralds and

gold rather than this wobbly wooden stool.

And now, for what it’s worth, I’m committed

to accept what I’ve got…splinters and all.

I did get here, however, in time to see

mankind’s first landing on the moon.

And to be honest with you, I need to admit,

I didn’t have a damn thing to do with that.

Chris Hanch 6-27-18

Peace and Quiet, Please!

There are those helpless waiting at the

border with Mexico who will summarily

be turned away. After the news on TV

you think about those poor children

ripped from their mothers’ arms and

imprisoned by the red-haired rat and

his pack in Washington. So, what’s up

with the mass-murdering despot in North

Korea, or the former KGB authoritarian

in Russia who stole Crimea and covertly

interfered with our democracy? Have we

forgotten the millions displaced and

slaughtered by that madman in Syria?

And then there was that asshole in the

apartment upstairs who beat an abused

his girl friend most every day. Thank

god they were thrown out and moved

away. He’s someone else’s problem to

deal with now. A guy could use a little

peace and quiet once in a while.

Chris Hanch 6-26-18

Not Worth Mentioning

My paintings do not nor shall they ever hang

in the Louvre. (I’ve never even considered

slicing off a portion of my ear.) I did not take

part in the construction of that bridge which

spans the Mississippi, though I have crossed

it many times before. I did not seed that Kansas

wheat field which helped to feed the hungry of

the world. I have never run a four minute mile.

My poetry has not appeared on the pages of

the Atlantic or New Yorker Magazines. It’s fair

to say that most of my poetic metaphors and

alliterations will never be seen. I never sang

at the Met either. In fact, my voice is so off-beat

and irregular that never in a million years could

I ever carry a tune. Ah, the things we common

folk do which never in a lifetime pass muster,

are never even considered worthy of scrutiny or

review. I have one of those faces you may have

passed a thousand times yet never could identify.

I have been known to get lost in a crowd of two.

So, today this is what I shall do, just another

off-the-record thing I propose for all its insig-

nificance, for all the little things in passing, for

everything less than great and grand not worth

mentioning, all the unnoticed we may have done

or failed to do. Have you ever seen the Eiffel

Tower all lit up at night? Sources say it’s quite a

sight. And even if you have, so what? You’re not

the only one.

Chris Hanch 6-25-18

Parts Unknown (In Memory of Anthony Bourdain)

The other night I was watching Anthony Bourdain’s

Parts Unknown on TV. A few weeks earlier Bourdain

committed suicide while filming on location in France.

What a shame. He gave a lot to his viewers. I myself

was a big fan. Each week I shared vicariously his travel

experiences from around the world.

On several occasions Tony revealed, albeit briefly,

glimpses of his personal history which included heroine

and cocaine addiction in previous years. In one episode

he took part in a therapy session with a group of recovering

addicts. He said of himself that there was this emptiness

within him as long as he could remember. Who knows,

perhaps a character flaw, a dark side within him he just

couldn’t explain. Having myself experienced the same

(including a lifelong battle with addiction), and having

been diagnosed and treated for clinical depression, I

could relate to Tony’s underlying insidious condition.

Be that as it may, in the Parts Unknown I was watching

the other day, Tony and a lady friend of his were at the

Aqueduct Race Track in Queens, New York. They were

in line to place their bets. Tony’s friend noticed him taking

a bill out of his wallet. “Is that a hundred dollars, she asked

with surprise?” “Yeah,”Tony replied, “I feel dead inside,

maybe this will revive me.” His friend placed her five-dollar

bet and they went to their seats and waited for the race.

Turns out, the horse Tony picked, the one he had non-

chalantly bet a C-note on did not win, place or show.

This particular episode of Parts Unknown ended, and

for all the unknowns going on inside his mind, Anthony

Bourdain had apparently been revived. He was still alive.

And at least for that day, a hundred dollars was a small

price to pay.

Tony will be missed. He lived to be sixty-one years of age.

Chris Hanch 6-24-18

Another One of Those Dreams

I keep having this dream where

everything seems familiar to me,

you know, where the time and

place count for nothing. And there

is this guy I’m supposed to know

who keeps calling me by name,

but never the right one. Robert,

he says. No, that can’t be right,

I reply. Well, Fred, he says instead.

Nope, not me, I plead with him.

I shall not respond to you until

you get it right. Give it one last

try. Look, he says, I’ve known you

for years, have been with you in

dozens of these dreams before.

I surly ought to know who in hell

you are. We’ve been through this

exercise over and over, time and

time again, and this is beginning

to piss me off royaly, I snapped

back sharply at him. So, he gives

me this puzzled look; he turns

and walks away. Get your fat ass

back here, you, you, you...And,

abruptly I woke up in a cold sweat

thinking I was still in Kansas City,

but I wasn’t. Confused? Yes, I’m

talking to you...I am too.

Chris Hanch 6-23-18

The Basics

Egg and tuna salad, yum! I have a

taste for that. Piled high on whole

wheat bread, a sandwich of creamy

goodness oozing from all sides, a

thick slice of home grown tomato

on top…a simple yet scrumptious

delight for dinner tonight. Hard

boiled eggs shelled and sliced, two

cans of tuna pulled from the shelf,

diced onions, salt and pepper added

into the mix...but wait, the jar of

mayonnaise in the fridge is damn

near empty! Oh no, I forgot to have

my son get mayonnaise on his weekly

trip for me to the grocery store. (Given

my disabled condition, I no longer have

a car, don’t get around much anymore.)

It’s a crying shame, I tell you, the pits

having grown past the flexibility and

spontaneity of youth; not even able

to get a simple jar of mayonnaise for

my tuna and egg salad sandwich. Crap!

Hellmann’s, Kraft, even Miracle Whip

would do. The stupid brand doesn’t

really matter to me. French’s, friggin’

French’s mustard, I have nearly a full

bottle of that. Damn it all!! Tonight, I

suppose, hot dogs will have to do.

Chris Hanch 6-22-18

No Guarantees

It’s bound to happen, you know,

I tell myself. Day after day, I sit

around waiting for things to break.

The other day there was the drip,

drip of the plumbing, then the

torrential flow of a ruptured water

pipe in the crawl space below. A

hell of a mess made at 10 PM on

a Sunday with no maintenance to

be found. I consider the coffee

maker more than 10-years old

gurgling away in the kitchen.

How many more cups will it

yield before it gives way and

surrenders to the strain? In my

chest, I feel the heartbeat and

know each pump is one fewer, one

closer to the end of days. Time, my

friends, is not on our side. Granite

mountains crumble stone by stone

under the stress of their own weight.

The best movies, the grandest of

symphonies must arrive inevitably

at an end. The replay button can be

applied only so many times before

even the best of times grow old. I see

the batteries I’ve recently replaced

in my remote are guaranteed for ten

years. In my seventies now, and given

that I’ve not taken the best care of

myself, I figure those Duracell's will

certainly outlast me. Cripes’ sake, man,

I’m expendable, not that money-making

drum-beating, Energizer Bunny advertised

on TV.

Chris Hanch 6-21-18

To All the President's Men and Women

At first there is anger which boils the brain.

Are you callous to the goings on or just

demonically insane? Then, the feeling of pity

and shame, shame on you and your outrageous

crew. How could you? These are children as

bargaining chips you use, sweet and innocent

children. You stand shoulder to shoulder with

your leader, complicit all of crimes against

mankind—Ripping defenseless children from

their mother’s and father’s arms. You stand

there for the cameras, smug and indifferent

to the evil you and your kind disseminate

across this land. And may your god leave you

at your dying breath with the fiery image of a

hell you so rightly deserve for eternity. On

second thought, I shall remain angry. The hell

with pity and shame. You are worthy of so

much more for what you have done. I have

been taught not to judge others or use profanity

in calling names, but for evil bastards such as

you and your president, I shall lift my reserve.

I am willing to burn in hell beside you seeing

that we both get what we so richly deserve.

Chris Hanch 6-20-18

A Warning!

I give you fair warning,

man, what you are about

to read is nothing like a

fine dining experience,

no candle light or tasty

filet mignon here, no fancy

waiter to pour the vintage

bougelet. This offering of

mine today holds not even a

morsel associated with the

excitement of a first date.

So, before disappointment

inundates the eye, before

disdain for these meaningless

lines settles into the awareness

of your brain, I feel it is my

duty as a fellow human being

to inform you, no, to implore

you, put this sheet down, or

should it be laid as a page in

a menu, close the damned thing

and walk away before its too late.

Without haste walk, no, run away

to some other place. And for god’s

sake, man, get a fresh start and

begin elsewhere all over again.

Or, simply take cover under a

table, put your head between

your knees and pray. I’ll let you

know when it’s safe to come out.

May I recommend the meatloaf

instead. It’s the special today.

Chris Hanch 6-19-18

In My Country

The Pakistani man asked me

if I lived with my children,

knowing they were grown

and living on their own.

Mostly, in my country, this

is not the case. The elderly,

I told him can either make it

on their own or are relegated

for care in a nursing home.

(He shook his head in disbelief,

as tradition in his country was

contrary to this practice.) The

old ones are revered and cared

for by their offspring. How

do you live, being hobbled

by age and condition, he was

also curious to know? I am

paid Social Security, I went

on. It’s not a lot, but it is

enough. Nowadays, I don’t

need much anymore. Do your

children help you with money,

he asked me? No, I told him,

but sometimes I help them

when they get into a scrape

or times are lean. I think he

had a hard time understanding

the meaning of scrape and lean.

Such are the ways in these

United States, I went on—The

Land of the Free and Home of

the Brave.

Chris Hanch 6-18-18

In the Name of Poetry

The poet I’ve been reading a lot lately

writes very frequently about smoking,

booze, women, sex and the race track.

His poetry seems raw and distasteful

as he writes disdainfully about them

all. He was well-known and respected

when he was alive. To me he seemed

an angry and unhappy man. I write

poetry too, although I am not renown,

nor is there any indication my works

will ever attain that stature or acclaim.

I have reached an age where such

aspirations have long since slipped

away. Besides, I went to the horse

race track one time in my life with

my brother. I placed my bet with all

the rest and lost the twenty-dollars

I had with me. That’s it for me, I told

my brother as I lit my last cigarette.

I could use a drink or two, I said. But

I’m out of cash. Can you spare me a few

bucks till I get paid? I was newly divorced

from my first wife of 17-years. And with

her I’ll have to say the sex was not very

good. (I’m sure she’d have the same to say

about me.) I was pretty angry back then

as I recall, but didn’t begin writing poetry

until much later when things for me began

to settle down. And looking back on the

whole ordeal, that may have turned out
to be just one more mistake I made along
the way.

Chris Hanch 6-17-18

Where in the World?

No thought, a word never spoken, never heard.

Then it is fair to say, what could have been does

not exist today. No red fox at night crawling from

its den, no moon, full or half, waxing or waning

overhead. The wino passed out in the alleyway

goes unseen. Have you heard, had it not been for

Theo, Vincent may have lost both ears. No thought,

a word never spoken, never heard. Then Messi may

have never scored the winning goal. The threatened

and persecuted would not find asylum at the border.

Should there be the faintest idea never spoken, then

only a fog would exist clouding the imagination. No

thought, a word never spoken, never heard and no

Best of Show is awarded at the county fair. The

magician’s rabbit never appears, and the hat remains

empty. Had I not thought of you today, and you of me,

then indeed where in the vast expanse of nothingness

would we be? Say something, anything...speak to me!

No thought, a word never spoken, never heard. Without

yeast the dough would never rise. And then, where on

Earth would we be?

Chris Hanch 6-16-18

Getting Here Today

There is only one thing between the

vigor of youth and me, sixty-five years

of uncertainty and lies. Now, here I am

at seventy-one which leaves me with the

first six years of life where I hadn’t a clue

as to the possibilities out there ahead of

me. Don’t feel sorry; have no pity, for you

see, I’ve had more than my fair share in

getting here. What more can I say should

by chance I add the blissful uncertainty of

one more day, or experience yet another cash

of lies? I can say truthfully that I began my day

sipping a bitter cup of coffee and reading

poetry from Charles Bukowski. Hopefully,

this will ably explain from where I’m coming.

Chris Hanch 6-15-18