Alexander the Great and Me

Alexander the Great had conquered

most of the known world by 332 BCE.

I too am of Greek heritage. It is now

2020 AD and I have yet to conquer

anything.

Guess there have been too many Greeks

born between Alexander and me.

Genetically, the conquering gene has either

been diluted over time or completely gone

missing in me.

It’s okay, though, I excuse myself. I am too

old and temperamentally lazy these days to

conquer and lead.

Rather be left alone, anyway, kind of relish

wallowing in my own anonymity, napping at

home as the unknown neighbor next door.

Oh, a few years back I did win a fierce battle

with alcohol. Since then, according to AA,

I am considered as recovering every day.

So, I suppose that war isn’t won until my

sword and shield hit the ground and I’m

done.

Needn’t worry, my armaments are just

figments of my fanciful imaginings.

Got this here cane, though. Gotta have

something to chase the idiots and ass-

holes away.

Bet even Alexander, warrior stud that

he was, never wielded one of those.

                         -30-

Chris Hanch 5-4-2020

No Keys Required

Gave up my car and driving a few years back.

On the plus side, no more buying gas and oil, no

licensing and taxes, no more washing, waxing,

scraping of ice in winter, no more crazed drivers

on the Interstate, no driving round and round

looking for a parking space, no meter maids and

tickets or insurance to be paid. I can taxi, hitch

a ride, order by mail or do without. After 50-years

as an automotive slave, I can adapt. I wash my

hands as a liberated free man. (Eat your heart out

Henry Ford.) Two fewer keys to search for when

I’ve got to go and time’s running low. In fact, I

measure my key to success in life by how many

locks and keys I have managed to release. Only

two remain on my lightweight chain—one to the

front door of my apartment, and the other for the

mailbox, a renter’s “must have” at any rate. And

when I expire, you can cremate me along with

my keys, scatter my ashes over land or sea. Pitch

those two keys into the river and let them sink into

the deep. Management will change the locks on the

apartment door and mailbox anyway. And where I am

headed, I won’t care or have need for a single key. Free

from body, soul and keys, I tell you. Free! Free! Free!

                              -30-

Chris Hanch 5-3-2020

Sunday

Sunday, even though Sunday is a weekend day,

it no longer carries any special meaning to me.

Retired, no work to attend tomorrow, my

day of rest is strapped to me 7-days a week.

Sunday, no longer the Lord’s Day. My belief

in the glory and omniscience of a deity belong

to the Cosmic Conglomerate these days. My

daily prayers serve as a recall reminder of the

deceased and those around the world in need.

Sunday as with every other day, 24-hours

graced with pleasure and pain, no need to

explain, everyday life on the Planet is just

that way.

Sunday, I wait and soon enough Monday

without fanfare to usher in the change,

invades the same space, and here I am

again writing something down I need

to say.

I go on, so far a seventy-three year stretch,

day after day. And one day for me, no more

Sundays worthy of recognition by number,

designation or name.

Sunday, a one in seven chance I shall pass

on that day. Sunday, one more for the books.

Sunday, a holy day? No more than any other.

Sunday, who’s counting anyway?

                        -30-

Chris Hanch 5-3-2020

Problems, Issues and I am 73

Yesterday was the pits for me, electronically and emotionally.

The website I use to pay my rent was inoperable and I couldn’t

get through—down for maintenance the web page said.

Damn, you’d think those IT folks could schedule maintenance in

the middle of the month rather than the beginning of the month

when the rent is due.

Pissed me off royally for being disabled and elderly, I hate losing

what little control I have left in me.

Throw in my compulsivity, wanting to pay my rent NOW! and this

gives cause for my blood pressure to rise sky high.

The second issue was electronic transfer of funds from one bank

account to another. I had a customer service lady on the line trying

to help guide me through the process on my computer.

I kept messing stuff up pushing, “Enter,” “Continue,” “ I agree,”

and winding up back where I started. This whole thing is useless,

I told the agent helping me.

I’m old and slow as molasses, forgive me. My apologies had no

affect on solving the issues confronting me, so I told her, “I’ll try

again later. Thank you anyway, goodbye.”

Yesterday was bleak for me. Hell, got nothing done and for Christ’s

sake, besides I’m friggin” 73.

Fast forward to today. I woke, had my coffee and went about my

business again trying to set things straight.

My apartment website was up and running, and thank God the rent

is paid. Figured out the money transfer crap all by myself, and got

electronic confirmation that it worked.

Amazing! The world is all right today. The two problems I had

yesterday have been resolved today. I’m still 73, and although

that still perturbs me to no end most days, I can deal with it.

For now anyway, I’m okay.

                                      -30-

Chris Hanch 5-2-2020

An Offering to You from Me

Can’t see what’s going on inside of me, waves

of curiosity, torrents of creativity, an inclination

toward spontaneity.

Hopefully, a new reality enlightening—the muse

got a hold of me.

X-ray and MRI, no detection there to see, but something

metabolically, a fixation, an eclectic revelation.

Oh, the possibilty transforming me artistically.

There is this underlying overwhelming energy.

I feel it, must reel it in mentally, give it pictures and words

to express logically, give birth to it substantively, transfiguring

into a form and fashion achieving a tangible reality

for others to perceive interactively.

And it arrives on time inevitably, my offering presented here

today for you to digest interpretatively…

A process you see, a daily exercise, an offering to you from me.

                                   -30-

Chris Hanch 5-2-2020

A Crazy World

A crazy world, a fickle world, unfair, unjust, un-

predictable, just the way things are. There are

the rich and the famous, some of whom shouldn’t

be either. The formally educated, the self-made

intermingle with the illiterate and stupid. How

does one make any sense out of anything? Ah,

life’s mysteries. Other than the human species,

it’s simply a matter of life or death. No need to

reason, explain or complicate. Either it is or it

isn’t. What use is a flashlight light to a hyena?

You hunt at night in the darkness or you don’t

eat. As a child I never dreamed of becoming rich

and famous, and so I never did. I loved Stan Musial

and Bob Gibson, but never hoped to achieve playing

in the Big Leagues. There is no place in the Baseball

Hall of Fame for the likes of me. Never thought I

would grow up to be old and feeble either. Never

in a thousand years could I have imagined some-

thing like that would ever happen to me. Boy, was

I dumbfounded when I turned seventy-three. See,

that’s my point—wishes or not, as the old Doris

Day song goes, “Que Sera, Sera, Whatever will be

will be.” I would sing it for you, but I never aspired

to be a singer either.

                          -30-

Chris Hanch 5-1-2020

Reminiscing

Old folks always reminisce, and tell the young how they recall

better days. I Remember when we used to hug our closest

relatives and good friends?

I remember the days when we shook hands with a new

acquaintance? I look back on those times when we were

packed 50, 60, 70-thousand strong into stadiums watch-

ing the home team play?

I Recall being sidled up to the person in front, and similarly

to the person behind? Could have been at the airport or cued

up in line to see the newly released Star Wars Movie.

Used to be you could lick a friend’s ice cream cone to taste

what the flavor was like. A sweet smooch on the lips or a more

passionate French Kiss, how I remember the bliss?

Oh, and the spontaneous relief of rubbing your eyes or scratch-

ing your cheek. Why yes indeed, those were the days, my friend,

days fondly remembered which we thought would never end.

Sure, there were still those back then who were worthy of dis-

pleasure and mistrust, the ugly and despicable one you would

never embrace. Not even 50 yards removed would be enough.

But then, it was our personal prerogative to pick and choose.

Now here’s the rub—You need not be too old to remember those

days of glory gone by, the better days before the virus went wild,

when much of your world seemed fine.

Today, sheltered in place and wearing a mask while adhering to

social distancing, merely being a teenager or in your early twenties

will do. Old enough to remember, you say? Welcome to the club.

                                 -30-

Chris Hanch 5-1-2020