Travels at home and abroad,
Leaping lizards, fried livers and gizzards.
Rustic rural roots, shined city slicker shoes
and mud encrusted country boots.
Sun shone glares and shaded glens, dismal
mid-towns halfway to nowhere, bed bug
infested mattresses shared.
Fear and loathing in Peoria, elated wellspring,
mine-shaft happenings, Rocky Mountain
highs, why me whys sometimes implied.
Captain Kangaroo attitude. A mixed myriad
of moods and modicum of wishy-washy platitudes,
sour-grape elongated facial attitudes.
Brewing oyster stew, a bit of nonsense me
and a bowl of oblivious you.
It is what it is, nothing more or less is said
face-off with the living and cheek-to-cheek
with the dead.
Hyperbolic fodder, comedic folly, cross-country
steamboat, Hello, Dolly. Is that a banana
under your apron or am I hallucinating?
Footfalls along the way, disjointed pathways
from Here to Eternity about which it seems,
upon awakening, my lifetime has been made.
Goodnight, Rachmaninoff, hum me a lullaby.
And as the saying goes, life is short...
Be there or be square.
-30-
Chris Hanch 1-21-2022
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