Tomorrow

Tomorrow is but a thought, an idea should one

imagine it today.

Tomorrow, as the river flows, as the wind blows,

as the crow flies, shot straight as an arrow on

target making its way.

Tomorrow, there shall be decisions to make, new

revelations, old considerations, puzzle pieces perhaps
put into place.

Tomorrow is the untouchable today, 24-hours

and one rotation of Earth with you standing in place.

Tomorrow, yet another awakening sunrise from today.

In the time it takes, today, but a memory, fades away

into yesterday.

Chris Hanch 7-31-19

Circumstance

There was a rock slide down the mountainside.

It nearly caught you in the middle as it fell.

You are fortunate to be alive. Ahead of it, you

travel on; it wasn’t your place and time.

Just shortly before, and it could have been

curtains for you. Again the fates were on your

side when all hell broke loose and tons of rock

and timber came raining down. People who

live out their on the flatlands wouldn’t under-

stand. There is a tour bus crushed by the terrible

weight of circumstance. Folks are buried dead

and alive; their world has been overturned,

never again to be righted on this fateful day.

Alive, and with good fortune on your side, you

drive on to your destination. Lucky you, your

name was not among those listed on the 5

o’clock evening news.

Chris Hanch 7-30-19

Warning!

The frying pan was hot, and I got

burned grabbing it the wrong way.

Knives are sharp, and carelessly

mishandling them, I’ve cut myself

time and time again. I drank too

much vodka one night with a friend

when I was fifteen, and was hungover

sick for days. I eventually sobered up

before trying that again. I found out

that the vile and nauseating results

were always the same. You’d think,

especially where pain or prison is

involved, there are some lessons we

should have learned. There are those

in life who over and over seem to get

away with making dreadful mistakes

while many a good man has suffered

and died trying. A word of advise to

those who may ignore—Beware! High

Voltage!—and piss on it anyway. That one

will get shocking results most every time.

Chris Hanch 7-29-19

A Happening One Day

One day, young ones, you will look up

and see what has been forgotten. I can

say this with surety because it has hap-

pened to me. Anyone of a certain age

can make this claim. Just continuing to

breath in and out shall one day get you

there to a place and time you suddenly

recall. And it is then you will look up

and find your youth behind you strug-

gling to catch up to the older and for-

getful you, the new you who suddenly

remembers where and when. Turn

around, young ones, and look up. The

trail is dusty and long. That lost name

will come to you eventually.

Throw a kiss to your fondest memory

and waive goodbye. You have arrived.

Chris Hanch 7-28-19

Something About Sound

I listen and try to identify sounds I hear

and recognize even though I cannot see,

too far from sight for me.

I surmise the shape and size of cicadas

chirping from the trees in a late summer’s

evening of rural Nebraska.

I picture vividly the train whistling over miles

which separate it from me through the darkness

of night in Camp Point, Illinois.

I know the distant rumble of thunder before

the storm approaches over the corn fields of

an Iowa farm.

I determine the resonant whir of the semi’s

diesel engine in St. Louis shifting gears

blocks before it comes into view.

And in New Mexico, I drift off into a restful

night’s sleep as coyotes call to one another

in the moonlight along the Rio Grande.

And a crashing in the room next door which

abruptly awakens me, shattering the silence of

night. Where am I, and what in hell was that?

Chris Hanch 7-27-19

Resolution

I made myself a promise today,

a promise to try and do better

than I did yesterday.

I figure it would be an easy task

to undertake for I did nothing of

consequence worth mentioning

yesterday.

So many times I have committed

to doing more or better than I had

done the day before.

I never wait for a New Year to make

resolutions, considering if one

really takes oneself seriously, then

improvements can and should take

place on any given day.

So, in keeping with that philosophy,

I have made a hand-printed sign to

hang around my neck which empha-

tically proclaims, Man at Work, Un-

der Construction Today.

It’s a process, you know. Sometimes

these improvements take time. And

I find that I’ve got lots of that critical

commodity on my mind.

Hand me that hammer over there will

you, please. I’ve found that now and

again there is some sense which needs

to be pounded into me.

Chris Hanch 7-26-19

And So It Goes Again

And so it goes again, another new day begins…

some 93,000,000 miles away from the sun,

for me some 26,000 plus rotations of the Earth

from night to day and round again. And so it

goes once again, a heartbeat farther from the

beginning, a rhythmic pulse coursing closer to

the end. Records have been set, calculations are

made. It’s a race against time, my friends. Some

believe there will be an accounting at the end.

There are those who subscribe to the news and

go with the odds-on favorite. There are those

who simply muddle through with that which

has been given them each day. Not everyone

can be awarded a blue ribbon or trophy for

first place. In my lifetime, as a child, I was the

last one out of ten to find an empty seat in a

cake walk. I won a chocolate-frosted, devil’s food

and was thrilled to death, figuratively speaking,

that is. And so it goes again. And as for today,

according to my calculations, chances are fifty

fifty, plus or minus five for error, it could go

either way.

Chris Hanch 7-25-19

Something About the Brain I Can't Explain

The brain is a funny creature encased in me,

one which I will never fully understand. That’s

why many of us choose to go on day after day,

as the years add and subtract from our state of

being. Here’s a case in point: Back in 1966, I

was in the Army stationed in Germany. It was

August and I was to be married. I had nothing

fit to wear for the occasion. And even though it

was to be only a brief and casual ceremony with

the town Justice of the Peace, I needed to dress

appropriately for what was to be a life-changing

commitment. In explaining my situation to a fellow

soldier I knew at the time, he offered to loan me

a suit he had hanging in his locker. It was a very

fine suit, an expensive one, I am sure, a Botany

500 as I recall, made of a smooth and lustrous gray

material, perfect for most any formal affair. And it

happened to fit my slender frame perfectly, as if it

been tailored for me personally. Earl was the man’s

name who graciously offered to loan me his suit for

the day. Earl, I recall, although some fifty-three years

later, his last name escapes me. That isn’t so unusual

for over time the brain tends to forget last names. I

suppose I should be grateful that I even remember his

first name. What’s weird to me is that months prior to

my wedding another military acquaintance of mine

borrowed a pair of jeans from me because he had

nothing clean to wear on a date which came up on

the spur of the moment. He was slightly larger than

I in the waist, and the fit was a bit tight for him, but

it would have to do. (The “Beggars Can’t Be Choosers”

rule applied.) He was grateful in any case. Funny though,

to this day, I still remember his full name, Wayne L. Terry.

Poor Wayne, months later he was killed in an unfortunate

work accident. And I am pretty sure that is why his first

and last name, even his middle initial, remain memorial-

ized forever in my brain. I suppose death leaves a perma-

nent mark on us more so than more pleasant-seeming

situations. Anyway, I wound up divorcing my first wife

after seventeen years of marriage. We had a rocky rela-

tionship for the most part. However, I still fondly recall

the gray, Botany 500 suit and that fine fellow, Earl, who

graciouly loaned it to me on my wedding day. But I’ll be

damned that to this day, his last name escapes me. Why

is that, I often wonder? I suppose in my mind’s eye,

somewhere out there, and buried here deep inside, Earl

is still alive.

Chris Hanch 7-23-19

I Coulda Been...

There are reasons I never made it all the

way to the top of the ladder. A couple of

those come to mind. I never read Moby

Dick and Ivanhoe in the eighth grade when

they were assigned. Oh, I picked up the

books and read a few pages, then became

board and watched the movies instead.

Sr. Ann Vincetta was no fool. She could

tell by the shallowness of my book reports

that I never completed the assigned work,

and she gave me a failing grade for my neg-

ligence and stupidity. “I coulda been a con-

tender; I coulda been somebody instead

of a bum!” Marlon Brando said that in the

movie, On the Waterfront, which I admired

at the time. Perhaps I could be a longshore-

man instead of a lawyer, doctor or magnate

of commerce. Nope, wasn’t meant for me.

I was a Midwesterner and there were no

oceans anywhere close to where I lived. I did,

however, sail down the Mississippi on Eileen

Ender’s dad’s boat one summer. I imagined

what it may have been like being Huck Finn

on his great adventures with Jim. My dad read

Mark Twain’s celebrated story to my brothers

and me when we were kids. We made the trip

to his childhood town of Hannibal, Missouri .

My dad even bought us each an authentic straw

hat. That should have accounted for something.

And as useless as all that ladder climbing stuff

turned out to be, at least in my old age today,

I have those fond childhood memories to keep

me company.

Chris Hanch 7-22-19

Dreaming of the Oracle and Me

Last night I dreamed I stood face to face

with the Oracle of Delphi. I am of Greek

ancestry so that didn’t seem foreign to me.

We agreed to use English to communicate

for I was most comfortable with my native

tongue. Besides, it was my dream and I in-

sisted on having my way. Why should I listen

to you, anyway? I questioned as she gyrated

her arms in the thick hallucinogenic fog from

which she came. All the folks you’ve advised

throughout history are dead now making your

track record unreliable and questionable to me.

What do you see in the future which involves

me, I asked her? It’s a mystery to me how you

came this far in the first place, she responded.

I admitted to her, that enigma amazes me as

well. You wouldn’t be looking for an assistant

or a protege would you, I asked her? Poof! She

evaporated back into her cloud of smoke, and

three and a half millennia too late, I awoke.

Chris Hanch 7-21-19

One Sheet Among the Many

I am but a copy, a facsimile of an original

long ago tossed into the recycle bin of history.

I have yellowed and wrinkled with age.

Air, sunlight and moisture are at play as the

cause of my wrinkled and brittle deterioration.

The images imprinted on my surface which in

the beginning identified my reason for being

have faded and become mostly untenable over

time. However, I do believe you can barely make

out the second to the last line. Look carefully,

see the complimentary close near the end—

it says, Sincerely. Mind you, I didn’t always mean

that. Otherwise, the context of my being has

been bleached beyond legibility. Be that as it may,

this is all which remains. Burn or shred this should

you find the time. Another copy has already
been made.

Chris Hanch 7-18-19

Something About Some Days

Some days, the pain of loneliness can be

overwhelming. Ever felt way out there,

lost in space? Happens to the best of us

at times, I know.

Some days, feeling grubby, nasty and

unfit, you just want to be left alone. Pity,

pity, poor me. I have done this to myself,

you will agree.

Some days, the sunshine and birdsong

are enough to inspire and move you along.

But the loss comes when stagnation and

feelings of worthlessness set in.

Some days, the essence of the soul seems

distant as Pluto, a dwarf planet, cold, rocky

and desolate, cast in the dim light of a far

flung sun, some 3.6 billion miles away.

Some days, unexpectedly, New Horizons,

a gift from Earth passes nearby and waves,

Hello, Pluto! Seems this took years in the

making. And out of the darkness, a better

day suddenly appears.

Some days we find the strength to go on

in synchronous harmony with the rest of

Life as we know it, orbiting in our place

merrily around the sun.

It is then you realize there is still a ray of

hope some days. It is on its way, my friend.

Wait for it!..Wait for It!...

Chris Hanch 7-19-19

Today, No Name to Claim

Today, I take my leave, placing my name

and ego aside. A dog comes when its name

is called. Today, I resist that and all other

commands. I shall flock with the birds,

crawl with the worms today. Partnered with

blades of grass and leaves on the trees, I shall

make no claims. Think of the anonymous

rolling of ocean waves or the lone soy bean

lost in a thousand acres of all the same.

The name I was given by my mother at

birth has been reversed. I am but a single

seed, one germ unseen among the trillions

hidden below the surface. It’s all a numbers

game, my friends. Name me and it is I who

am earmarked to accept both credit and blame.

Give me a break, tally me absent from your

rolls of present and accounted for. Today, and

who knows, from this moment on into eternity,

don’t call me. Should I sprout and bloom once

again, I’ll call you...maybe.

Thusly and hereby today, I am withdrawing my

name from comsideration. That old man hobbling

down the street, though he may look familiar to

you, likely it is not I you see. One soy bean lost in

a thousand acres all the same.

Chris 7-10-19

In My Mind's Eye

I have often wondered about all that

I have managed to accomplish in my

lifetime, and all which was left un-

done, will any of it really matter?

Is the world really better off or worse?

Or in the grand scheme of things, will

none of it really have mattered at all?

I believe this thought enters the mind

of most folks towards the end. I expect

we are willing to accept for the most

part, we have done the best we could.

I see a young man on the street, the

self assured one, fit and trim with a

certain swagger and vigorous bounce

to his step. That could have been a

positive and more hopeful me with

all my grand ideas some forty or fifty

years ago. It was then I came to realize

that through all those days, weeks,

months and years, with all the blood,

sweat and tears, my replacement has

finally arrived. I’m tired. It’s your turn

now, young man, Give it your best shot;

let the world see what you’ve got.

Chris Hanch 7-17-19

The Assignment

I’ve told a version of this story before, the one

about the therapist who faulted me for being

unwilling to ask for help.

I neglected to tell her about the time I had a

freelance job assigned to me by a prestigious

publishing firm.

They needed over a hundred full-color illustrations

for a children’s slide presentation they were putting

together.

The project director told me that the project had to be

completed within two weeks, preliminary sketches to

the finished works.

Can do, I told him. I needed the money, and even

though I had a full-time job to boot, I committed

to the deadline.

Son-of-a-bitch, I knew I had bitten off more than I

could chew. So, I interviewed two other artists, tying

to enlist help with my overwhelming assignment.

Neither one was suitable for the job, so I worked

alone through the nights for the next two weeks in

order to get the job done.

I had sought help which didn’t work out, so I wound

up doing the work all on my own. I had forgotten to

tell the therapist about that.

I am not Walt Disney Productions, you know. I don’t

command a staff of artists, a hundred of which can

animate Mickey Mouse at any given time.

Had that incident come to mind at the time, I may have

most certainly told that therapist of mine, you can go

eat shit and die!

Chris Hanch 7-9-19

The Interview

This may sound silly or absurd to you, but a

thought came to mind as I was reading this

morning. The piece I was digesting had nothing

to do with the image which flashed through

my mind unannounced, it just came.

Early1966, I was a nineteen-year old in the Army

stationed in Germany, being interviewed by a panel

of First Sergeant superiors from my unit. That was

the practice back then to determine who would be

promoted in rank above the E4 pay grade.

I happened to be a candidate for Specialist Fifth Class,

but first I needed to successfully answer questions from

the board. There would not be soft-ball questions from

a bunch of wall flower pansies. No sir, they would be

serious shots across the bow by battle-hardened

career soldiers meant to befuddle and stymie, to test
the metal and worthiness of the interviewee.

Well, somehow I managed to get through the intense

interrogation that day, and was one of the coveted few

who was duly awarded promotion to the higher rank

and grade.

And today, some fifty-three years later, I couldn’t for

the life in me tell you one question I was asked back

then, not a single one. But I can say I made it, even

though after all these years, memory fails me as to how.

I still have my Spec-5 chevron tucked away in the top

drawer of my desk at home, an embroidered reminder

that in order to pass muster, my recollection way back

then had to be a hell of a lot clearer than the foggy one

settled over me today.

Chris Hanch 7-8-19

A Childhood Memory

My new best friend, Larry. I was only five or six,
new to the neighborhood, and living in the first house

my family ever owned. Oakland Avenue. Larry rode

his bicycle past me standing in the front yard. Hey,

kid, I yelled out to him, where did you learn how to

ride that bike? Larry stepped on the peddle applying

the breaks, spiraling around on the gravel until he

came to a stop in the flying rocks and dust. Cool!

I said laughing. Been riding since I was three or four,

he yelled back at me. Wow! I said impressed, especially

because we were about the same age. And from my

perspective (not yet able to ride a two-wheeler), I

thought that was really something. Want to try,

Larry offered? Sure, I replied. And I did. Straddled

the seat, put one foot on the peddle, held tight on

the handle bar, and with a mighty shove from Larry

I was off. It was a wobbly ride for the first twenty

feet or so before I chickened out and put my feet

back down on the ground. Cool! My first try and I

managed not to crash. Pretty good, Larry told me.

And from that moment on we became best friends.

Larry had an older brother, Teddy, and an older sister,

Teresa. His mom was named Vivian, and his dad was

Theodore. Their last name was Hummel. His parents

had come from Germany during World War Two.

They fled their home there because they were Jews.

It would be years latter before I would learn all about

that period in history. For now, I was very happy to

be in my new neighborhood and having made my

first best friend who let me ride his bike. Larry in-

vited me often over to his house which was just

across Oakland Avenue and a few doors down. I

remember his mom and dad spoke differently than

anyone I knew. And they had a shepherd dog like Rin-

Tin-Tin. Her name was, Vickie, who was also very

friendly. Never once did she growl at me or bite. I

remember believing that she too must have been a

German Jew. But then, I was just a little kid and being

raised a Catholic at the time. Larry, and his family were

very friendly to me, and they didn’t seem to mind.

Chris Hanch 7-7-19