We The People

 

A good and decent man

A good and decent woman

We want

We need

Common sense

A value of decency

We need justice

We need equality

We need compassion

We need to understand

We need to be understood

We need

We need to live

In peace and unity

With a shared

Sense of community

And security

We need

A sisterhood

A brotherhood

All men

All women

Every child

In need

We need

To disavow

Hatred

Selfishness

And greed

For it is

In the giving

That we are blessed

To receive

In shared

And trying times

Such as these

Look around you

We the People need

            -30-

Chris Hanch 9-30-2020

As Seen on TV (again and again)

 

I saw a commercial on TV the other day.

Having been in advertising years ago, I

learned how to quickly assess those an-

noying ones which air all too frequently.

I do, however, appreciate the clever ones

which give me an occasional pause to

chuckle.

Anyway, I missed the advertiser’s name,

but heard a line which prompted my in-

terest—First, eliminate who you are not.

Well folks over the years, I have done a lot

of that. I am not Michael Jordan or Patrick

Mahomes. I am not Michelangelo or Picasso.

I am not Whitman or Sandburg. I am not

MLK, JFK, FDR, Pee Wee Herman or Cap-

tain Kangaroo. I am no Hopalong Cassidy

or Roy Rogers, Albert Einstein or Carl Sagan,

no Lenny Bruce or Larry David, neither Bob

Dylan nor Beethoven nor Rube Paul.

I have, however, worn many hats in my

day, some too loose which blew away,

and a few which were too tight, restrict-

ing the blood flow to my brain.

I doodled, fiddled, piddled, and poked.

I hemmed and hawed, tinkered, diddled,

guffawed and gawked. I have been accused

of being irresponsible and a people-pleaser

to boot. And to those I say, screw it all, and

I totally agree with you.

So after a 73-year trial and error of this

life and times of mine, I find myself properly

placed as old and gray and riddled liberally

with sarcasm and arthritic pain. But I also

find that I’m a hell of a lot better off than

most of those guys mentioned above.

And as for that program Survivor on TV,

I find those yahoo contestants like most

of you viewers have as of yet not gone

nearly far enough.

                   -30-

Chris Hanch 9-29-2020

Where We Are Today

 

If I told you I had plans on one day traveling to

Nepal and my dream was to climb Mt. Everest.

And had you not heard from me over time, you may

then wonder how all that worked out. Did he make

it or not?

Or, on my bucket list I have added a raft trip down

the Amazon River from its source in the Andes

Mountains of Peru to an end in Brazil, emptying

into the Atlantic Ocean. Months may pass, and

upon hearing from me again, you may ask if had

accomplished my adventurous goal?

Most of you who know me would surmise that

I’m not the kind of guy who would likely make

perilous and venturesome treks such as those.

He’s a temperamental artist and writer, you say,

who tends to participate in less physical and more

ruminative activities.

Perhaps you were thinking that I may have played

Blackjack on a trip to Las Vegas and won $25. Well

actually it turned out to be more like $50. Either

way, that would seem to be more typical for the

likes of me.

Anyway, should my absence one day cause you

to wonder whatever became of me? And in the

event you were curious as to what I’ve been up

to, you needn’t worry. Irregardless of what came

between us back then, you and I have now man-

aged to wind up right here, reading the last line

of this piece on the very same page.

If it’s not you I’m talking to, so sorry, then it has

got to be someone else.

                        -30-

Chris Hanch 9-26-2020

Words in a Nursing Home

 

Words in the nursing home

do not travel far.

Mainly they are faded

memories retained in the brain.

The hours and the days pass

silently that way.

Yesterday is the only day. It all

happened then.

A lifetime of yesterdays play out

in the silence of the brain.

Words in the nursing home

do not travel far.

Remember me who I used to be?

What was your name again?

Did I know you back then?

            -30-

Chris Hanch 9-25-2020

How I Got Here

 

Life at 73, the mystery of life has not

been wasted on me. From birth I learned

how to and how not to. I took my chances,

made my choices, accepted and rejected

with either aplomb or recklessness.

I charged forward and fell back when

it seemed sensibly appropriate for me.

Excess and moderation came frequently

in stages. Both to which in ample measure,

I plead guilty.

Life, I know what it is and what it isn’t,

and readily dismiss what it coulda, shoulda

woulda been.

Through trial and error, through thick

and thin, through fire and ice, I know

intuitively what it has meant for me.

Some chance, some luck here and there,

good graces thrown into the mix, and

heaps of bullshit to wade through along

the way.

And who knows, I may have been born

other than me, a little more, could be a

hell of a lot less than I turned out to be

at age 73.

                   -30-

Chris Hanch 9-24-2020

The Air Conditioner

 

Something different last night.

Summer night, and usually outside

my apartment bedroom window

the sound of my neighbor’s air con-

ditioning unit.

I’m used to it as it runs constantly

most of the night, shutting down

occasionally. But then on again.

There is a certain rhythm to the

whirring fan which I will often

add my cadence of words—fan

goes round, fan goes round, up

and down, sideways too, fan goes

round...And before I know it, with

sound nevertheless, I fall asleep.

I suppose it’s the same psychology

as counting sheep, only with a synca-

pated pulsating beat.

Last night the weather was cooler

and air conditioning wasn’t necessary,

not at my place nor the apartment

next door.

So there I am lying in bed checking the

the digital clock every fifteen minutes

or so—11:15, 11:30, 11:47, midnight,

12: 20. And I roll over back and forth,

pull the covers up and push them down.

I roll back over again and it’s 1:47 and

I’m still awake. No rhythmic beat to lull

me to sleep.

I hate the first cool nights of autumn.

Without the whirring sounds of that

damned air conditioner outside,

tonight there is no sleep inside.

I suppose, come hell or high water,

air conditioner aside, I’ll hibernate

when winter arrives.

                 -30-

Chris Hanch 9-22-2020

Anomaly

Got one of those general e-mails from

management at the apartment complex

where I live. (It’s a gigantic complex

with over 800 apartments spread out

over acres of land.)—

There has been a dramatic increase in

water usage, the memo stated. Check

for dripping faucets, running toilets,

malfunctioning furnace humidifier or

dishwashers.

Please e-mail maintenance and some-

one will follow up with you. I suppose

this will mean an increase in our shared

pro-rated utility bill.

And I got to thinking perhaps the increase

in part may be due to the frequency in which

I flush my toilet every day. I have to wipe

more often in my old age which then

necessitates more flushes in order to

prevent clogging the toilet with TP.

On second thought, I’m still saving

water by showering infrequently and

hand rinsing my dishes after every

meal instead of using the dishwasher.

The kitchen faucet drips a bit, but I

manage to fiddle with it so that it’s

barely perceptible.

After all, I got to thinking, people are

washing their hands more frequently

during the Coronavirus pandemic.

Think of it, several thousand residents

scrubbing their hands more thoroughly,

more often, who knows, perhaps a dozen

times a day.

Surely, my toilet flushing three or four times

per sitting is literally a drop in the bucket, so

to speak.

Besides, these discrepancies have a way of

working themselves out. Could just be one

of those freakish anomalies, you know.

Come to think of it, I’m kind of an eccentric

anomaly myself.

                     -30-

Chris Hanch 9-23-2020 

Facebook

 

This Facebook phenomenon reminds me

of a loose gathering of writers, poets, comedians

and alcoholics I joined back in the mid to late

80s. The St. Louis based Soulard Culture Squad

was where everyone got a chance to speak their

mind (or to make fools of themselves) in public

on open mic night.

This Facebook gathering reminds me of Show

and Tell most of us had experienced in Kinder-

garden. Bring something you like personally and

with your story share it with others.

This Facebook situation is like an open book

club where one gets to impart the highlights

and lowlights of their life in chapter and verse.

As for me, I favor the furry pets on display.

Most are more lovable and far cuter than

their owners.

This Facebook ordeal is like a Worldwide Group

Therapy Session where folks freely air out their

hangups, dislikes and gripes. Where for free they

receive advise, warranted and unfair criticisms

from others. You do have the option to Friend

or Un-friend, you know.

This Facebook thingy is like an AA Meeting as I

see it. Where one can go on drunken binders

occasionally. And when you’ve had enough,

you can go into hiding a few days.

Facebook, it’s a safe haven of sorts where no

one can smell your breath or see in your blood-

shot eyes that you are lying.

                          -30-

Chris Hanch 9-22-2020

Idle Time

 

With my idle time I used to draw. I’d think of

a subject and just draw. I didn’t really make

a plan, it just came naturally.

Never thought about the shapes, lines and

shading, they appeared sort of magically.

Has something to do with mind muscle

memory, I believe.

Well, those days are gone. In old age my

hand is no longer steady, can barely sign

my own name.

You may think that’s a shame, but I figure

I had my glory days, achieved what I wanted

and needed to achieve, said in pictures with

a thousand words what had to be said. I’m

leaving interpretations up to the viewer.

Nowadays, I fill my spacious and idle times

with writing. Even with shaky hands I can still

somewhat accurately punch the keys on my

computer. Most days the slightest idea or a

remembrance will give me sufficient words

to explain and arrange.

It’s kind of like peeing, you know, once you

get the flow going, the rest streams out ef-

fortlessly. (Ah, and what a relief!)

Now brain constipation, that’s a whole different

story. Kind of like the shakes—old age and medi-

cation have a lot to do with that.

Some days you ponder and patiently wait for the

dam to break.

-30-

Chris Hanch 9-21-2020

Sometimes Life is That Way

 

23,465 days, giver or take.

That happens to be 73-years and counting

for me.

And here I am old, hobbled and gray.

Less by degree than I was yesterday,

more than many, give or take.

How many times have I passed death

on the sidewalk, on the freeway?

How many times was my name ignored

and I simply went my way.

Chance or luck, some would say,

has a lot to do with it.

Everything and nothing was meant to be.

23,465 days, give or take.

Who’s counting anyway?

Only me, I suppose.

How much is that translated into

Greek, German, miles traveled,

freckles on an ant’s ass

or bologna sandwiches,

I’d like to know?

Life is mysterious and often

befuddling that way.

All I know is, it took that long

for me to write this poem.

This and that, these and

those—A lot of accumulated

days and so many ways.

-30-

Chris Hanch 9-20-2020

After Work at the Local Pizza Hut

 

George and I met at the local Pizza Hut for

beer after work. It was Kansas and at the

time you could only get 3.2 beer in those

eating establishments. That was okay I

suppose, you just had to drink more to get

the same affect as 5%.

Anyway, George was telling me about his

wife, how demanding of him she was.

“George you’re always doing that, and you

never do enough of this,” she would often

complain.

I nodded in agreement occasionally between

swigs of beer. “You need to get a better job so

we can have a better life. You’ll never amount

to much the way you’re going,” she told him

frequently.

“Generally, she’s a real bitch. Nothing is ever

good enough for her,” George went on,

“especially as far as I’m concerned.”

I went up front and got us another pitcher

of beer, lit a cigarette and listened to more.

And there was more. The more beer George

drank, the more he had to say.

It was okay with me. I did manage to get a

few words in edgewise from time to time.

“You and I ought to start our own business,”

I told him. “You were a bartender at a pool

hall a time ago, weren’t you, George?” “Yep,

he replied, and a damned good one too. Then

I could listen to the customers complain about

their home life. And I didn’t feel so bad about

mine. I really ought to leave, Linda.

You got another one of those smokes?” he

asked pathetically. “I thought you gave up

smoking?” I asked. “Off and on, you know.

“Gotta have one with my beer. Got these

breath mints I carry around so when I go

home Linda won’t know I’ve been smoking.

I really should just walk away and disappear.”

So, there we were, George and I smoking

cigarettes and drinking our 3.2 beer after

work at the local Pizza Hut.

At times it sounded to me as if George and

I were married to the same woman. Only

difference being, mine spoke with a thick

German accent.

“Hey, George, let me have a couple of those

mints, will ya?”

-30-

Chris Hanch 9-19-2020

A Sorry Sighting Indeed.

 

Suburban Denver, driving to the store one day,

and on the lawn of a modest ranch-style home,

a coyote moving briskly passing through.

I had to take a second look for I wasn’t for sure

what I was seeing. A wretched beast, larger than

most dogs, skin and bones, nearly hairless, in-

fested with the mange I supposed.

Had to be a coyote, though, I had never seen one

in that condition before. Must have come from the

wilderness area nearby.

A pathetic creature, that one, malnourished, splotches

of fur, tongue hanging to the side, running wild in search

of something to eat, I’m guessing.

Exposed, out in the open, nowhere to hide. And I,

on my way to the store to find food for myself to eat.

The mange seemed to me a sorry condition indeed.

                           -30-

Chris Hanch 9-18-2020