In My Time

So, this is where life has landed me—I did not turn

out to be another Picasso, nowhere near the likes

of Frost or Hemingway either.

I never was a threat to replace Anthony Bourdain

(although in my day I did travel to several exotic

places).

My only claim to fame would seem to be that I have

managed to fly under the radar of notoriety, achieving

nothing beyond the ho-humness of mundanity.

History and Time Magazine, the Metropolitan Museum

and Smithsonian shall never make even the vaguest

reference to me as a contributor of anything significant.

This morning, settled into my recliner with two napping

dogs by my side and a cup of steaming coffee on the end

table, I am situated with pen in hand and a sketch pad

on my lap.

I draw a whimsical sketch of myself as a quixotic itinerant

saddled atop a bent-eared donkey with silly smile on its face.

I humbly surrender to you, Mediocrity. It’s second nature

for me to claim that fame and fortune are not all they are

cracked up to be. There have been, however, plenty of

windmills in my time, more than enough to keep me busy.

Chris Hanch 8-4-18