Life, Biologically Speaking

No doubt, biology got the best of me.

It took years for me to realize that early

on in life, say about 17, 18 years or so,

I was duped by the science of living

organisms which had control over me.

Science was never an easy subject. I

failed it twice in high school in my

sophomore and junior years. Dropped

out a few weeks into my senior year,

and never returned. Enlisted in the

Army instead. Figured marching and

stuff instead didn’t require biology to

mess with my head. I was wrong. Bi-

ology stuck with me like glue, not in-

tellectually, mind you, but intrinsically.

My biological being knew long before

I had the capacity to understand what

was going on with me naturally. And

when my girlfriend shocked me with

her pregnancy one day, I thought to

myself, how stupid of me. I should

have known better. When I saw her

as pretty and had a natural attraction,

I hadn’t the slightest clue that this was

where biology would eventually lead

me. I figured that she must have failed

the basic science of reproduction in

high school as well. And the myth that

opposites attract was a theory tested

which we eventually would blow out

of the water too. Biology, all so compli-

cated. Took me decades to figure out.

Well, better late than never, so they say.

I can now claim, for all it’s worth, that I

have become more attuned to the sciences

in my old age. For me, astronomy is far less

troublesome.

Chris Hanch 9-18-19

No Changes, I Pray

It has come to this—in my old age as each day

passes, I pray for no changes to be made. Keep

everything the way it is, good and evil remain

stagnate and in place. One day like another,

consistency, I pray. As long as nothing new

knocks at the door, as aging forgets the elderly,

I suppose I will not crumble under the weight,

and everything shall remain the same as it was

yesterday. I can deal with such pain as long as

my cane which keeps me upright does not fail.

I may as well believe in horseshoe and four leaf

clover luck. I realize my prayers today will go

unheard for the slippery slope the world is on

is bound to quake and shake us all to our senses.

Dogs know better than to believe in miracles.

I have a Chihuahua who recently turned 18-years

old. He has survived all that time, older than

most canines go, without a prayer ever being

said, without a rabbit’s foot or a pocket or belt

loop to carry one. If his poop is regular and on

time, I consider both of us lucky. No changes

so far have been made today. For the moment

at least, none I can see to interrupt either him

or me and our current state of being. Good boy!

Chris Hanch 9-15-19

Life Sometimes

For so many years in my life, I used to

sketch and draw to pass the free time.

Often, I was inspired by someone or

some happening nereby or far away.

Sometimes I’d just doodle on paper to

see where it would lead me. I wound up

throwing away more than I saved. Many

of those pieces I decided to keep were

either lost in the myriad ramblings of my

life or destroyed by water from burst pipes

and an apartment fire in the middle of the

night. Then too, there were the give-aways

to friends and aquaintences. Even so, I

managed to save enough over the years

to make some sense of life, and leave a

modest record of my work for those I shall

one day leave behind. Today, in the throes

of old age, and due to shaky hands and

arthritic pain, I am unable to draw and

paint anymore. So, I have taken up writing

poetry mostly. Being retired, my free time

these days extends from the moment I wake

early in the morning to bedtime late at night.

I manage to write something, albeit short

and terse, most every day—thoughts of where

I have been and given where I happen to be

situated today. I suppose there is so much more

I could say. And considering all the time wasted

drinking myself senseless with vodka and brandy,

and the thousands of renderings lost or never

done along the way, I may have said so much

more than I could ever remember anyway. I

figure that’s how life flows sometimes. So, in

keeping with the theme presented here today,

feel free to shred this paper when you reach

the end. For in the grand scheme of things, my

friends, one more piece of my drivel gone missing

won’t make a hell a lot of difference anyway.

Chris Hanch 9-13-19

Something About Tee-shirts

Tee-shirts every day, that’s all I wear anymore.

Most of them I pull from the dresser drawer, a
clean one every now and then. No words or

names silk-screened on the front or back, I like
them like that. I see no need to either advertise
a favorite product or team, have no affiliation

with any college or university. No U of C, no
#12 Brady, no Adidas or Nike, no pithy slogans
like I’m a proud granddad (even though I am),

blank, mind you, front and back. Why tee
shirts then, why not a clean one every day?
Because I am not a one man billboard dis-

play, because it’s summer and flannel is not
suitable for Midwest weather's flame. And
ocassionally a change because I’m a plain

and simple old man, isolated from contact with
prim and proper society whose attitude stinks.
And my sometimes aromatic tee shirts which are

few in number tend to agree. And my plan, though
tenuous and incomplete, is to shower with my tee
shirt on perhaps sometime next week.

Chris Hanch 9-12-19

Midnight

Asleep or awake, and depending upon

where you are, Midnight could be a

curse or a blessing. In either case, it

has been a day, a done deal, one of

many, rain or shine, a mixed bag filled

with despair and or delight. Midnight,

the midway safe-haven harbor of seconds

between a yesterday fully lived or barely

survived, and a brief respite before the dire

or more promising tomorrow. Midnight,

a reflective hour in darkness before the

dawning of light. It is what it is, and for

now, tonight, it’s 10 PM, two hours remain

in the day before the strike of Midnight.

Yesterday and tomorrow waver side-to-side

on the pinhead of your mind. You retire.

Sweet Dreams!

Chris Hanch 9-11-19

A Walk in the Park

For the life of me, I could not see what

she saw in him. Pretty? She certainly

came close to that. I’d say a respectably

handsome woman, attractive in her way.

He, however, was slovenly, unkempt and

crude by modest measure. They had a

thing going, and I was not privy to those

unknown factors intimate closeness be-

tween lovers does not disclose. Still their

relationship, as it should be I suppose,

remained a mystery to me. Strolling as

friends in the park one day, she suddenly

broke away from our casual conversation,

and went up to give an old oak tree a big

hug. For me it was an unusual thing to see,

not quite lunatic crazy, but given the con-

text of that moment in time, I’d say, it was

a bit out of the ordinary. However, right then

and there, I did come to a clearer understan-

ding of her relationship with that other guy.

Now mind you, I never considered myself as

a prize, but whatever it was she saw in that

other guy had me figuring that it was much

better he than I. Now don’t get me wrong,

I too have an affinity for trees. I do, however,

have an aversion to hugging a body with a

girth so large I can’t get my arms around.

Chris Hanch 9-10-19

Striving

Should I remain still, perfectly still,

should I breathe shallow and easy,

I believe even death for the moment

will ignore me. News media shall go

unheard, and all tragedies will be

ignored. Pandamonium will abate

and hold its fate in abeyance for a

time. Words and their meaning will

be unlearned should I remain silent

with the enless sound of nothing

flowing through my mind. This is

not the reality of life, some will

contend, this is not the hope of new

beginnings, but a harbinger of the

end. The color blue, the word renew

need us to call them out by name

should you and I remain. I shall

then take a deep breath and begin

where I left off all over again. My

fingers and toes know, and once

again wiggle me alive.

Chris Hanch 9-9-19