Thoughts Today

I’m having thoughts today

of my Greek grandfather,

George, a dapper man, long

since passed away.

In the morning, after a shower

and shave, he splashes on a

modest dose of Old Spice

aftershave.

I imagine him standing in front

of his bedroom mirror as he

puts on and buttons his freshly

starched white shirt.

Then he loops the perfect Windsor

knot into his blue stripped tie,

shifting it back and forth and into

the perfect position.

He slips one arm and then the

other into his neatly pressed

seersucker suit, fastens the

middle button, and gives a

shrug of the shoulders and

a tug at the tail.

He picks a red carnation from

the vase on the dresser and

inserts it into the jacket lapel.

Then he dons his wide-brimmed

straw Panama, cocks it slightly

to the left, just so.

He slips his wallet, keys and

change from the dresser top

into his pockets.

A broad smile of reassurance

that everything is aligned and

accurately in place.

The proper man doesn’t look

this way by accident. No sir,

To please the ladies and

impress the men, one must

plan and organize such a

class act in a methodical and

fashionable way.

And judging by the looks

of things, it's going to be

another great day.

A genial doff of the hat,

one last stylish grin in the

mirror, and out the door.

Grandpa is on his way.

              -30-

Chris Hanch 7-10-2020

These Last Days

These last days count for something.

You reach a certain age when the future is

irrelevant, and hope, well hope only applies

to today.

Not to sound a sour note, but for all they

are worth, these last days count for something.

No need to hurry, no need to build or buy

more than is essential right now.

No more saving for a rainy day.

You are in dry arid country now, having it made

in the shade.

And still, these last days count for something.

Think back tp how it used to be, worried

about health, wealth and what will become

of you when you reach old age?

Through thick and thin, famine and feast,

you got here anyway, didn’t you?

No turning back, no need to know what lies

beyond the horizon of today.

I was given one more day when I rose this morning.

And today, coffee in the morning, bologna

and chips for lunch, chicken casserole for

dinner, reading and writing, and a nap to

plug the gaps in between.

The news at 10 o’clock to see if the world

is still spinning on its axis, a glass of milk,

and a cookie and then hit the hay.

And then perhaps tomorrow rises, come what may.

These last days count for something, my friend.

Lord knows, I can still wiggle my fingers and toes.

I may just skip the news and retire at 9:30 instead.

                              -30-

Chris Hanch 7-9-2020

Made in the USA

Used to be we made things. All the tags and

imprints said, Made in the USA. Underwear,

outerwear, footwear, eyewear, software,

hardware, here and there, everywhere,

Made in the USA.

No more, now it’s made in China, Sri Lanka,

Indonesia, Taiwan, Timbuktu anywhere but here.

Our factories are vacant and blighted, crumbling

to dust, our workers are unemployed or drive for

Uber, UPS, FedX and Amazon Prime.

Millions of hands have atrophied, are rendered

useless. Idol minds have all gone insane.

In our heyday we must have made far more

merchandise, exceeding our need. Supply, you

know, and very little or no demand.

And now that all the work has been done,

everything worth making has been made,

we find the only thing left is trouble.

We have always made trouble, We’re good at

that. There can never be enough trouble.

Where’s my goddamned cell phone? I need to call

someone and give them a piece of what’s left of

my mind. Anyone who doesn’t give a crap will do

just fine. I’ll likely get someone from India or

Pakistan who identifies himself as Bill.

                                       -30-

Chris Hanch 7-8-2020

My Lady La Salle

Some may think I’m a sexist, a misogynist

writing this way, but as a boy growing up

to be a man I had something to say.

It had to do with The La Salle Hotel lighted

at night on Linwood Boulevard in Kansas

City. Seeing those bright red neon letters

lofted 12 stories high a mile away was the

spell-binding view from my apartment

window in 1962 when I was fifteen.

At my age, had I any notion as to what it

meant to feel twinges of romance, smoking

a cigarette at the time, that was as close as

I could get.

She was beautiful and alluring to me under the

light, the shape of her, the radiance of her eyes,

the mysterious silhouette of her figure settled

into the night.

The next day riding with my father in the

car, headed East on Linwood to some

place we had to go, we passed my lovely

La Salle in broad daylight. Dirty brownish

red bricks stacked skyscraper high, frowning

windows screaming for paint, she was a

needy figure indeed brooding in morning

light.

My beloved La Salle Hotel, her neon soul

extinguished, a wary and worried structure,

bereft of the beauty my eyes envisioned

basking under the glow of neon at night.

It was then I came to realize, love is meant

for the lonely only to be fantasized from a

safe distance at night. Sweet dreams, my

dear, Lady La Salle, farewell, goodnight!

                       -30-

Chris Hanch 7-8-2020

My Photography

Forty-three years of photography,

and you could say that was me. In

and out, up and down, all around,

portraits, landscapes, travel, festivals,

life to be found:

Native America,

Italy, Germany, Greece,

Australia, the Bahamas,

USA, many of the 50-States,

sisters, brothers, lovers,

fathers, mothers,

sons and daughters,

cousins, friends and others

grouped together, standing alone,

the homeless and homegrown

the covered and discovered,

children and the elderly,

the silly, stately and sublime,

O’er mountains, desert,

sea, sky, field and stream,

you perhaps, and a sampling

captured on film

or preserved digitally,

all keepsake memories,

framed and frozen in time.

And invisible me, tip-toeing

through every scene

with camera in hand

whispering your name.

-30-

Chris Hanch 7-7-2020

Old Age

Old age is for the forgetful,

the stubborn and the weak

who no longer have

the memory or the strength,

but possess the tenacity,

perhaps for those who

still have something of value

to share, short on time,

yet patiently waiting

for the right words to arrive.

At times I tend to hate old age,

not nearly as much, though, as it

seems to not appreciate me.

                  -30-

Chris Hanch 7-6-2020

Had I Not Been Me

Had I been a unicycle I may have ridden about all

my lifelong on one wheel.

Had I been a virus I may have infected you then

spread myself like a wildfire around the world.

Had I been a goose from Canada, I would have flown

South in winter to warmer climes.

Had I been a sty I would have reddened the eye

of some asswipe I did not like.

Had I been a flea on Wall Street, I would have

sucked blood from NASDAQ, Dow Jones Industrials

and the S&P.

Had I been raised a Pinot Noir grape I may have been

fermented into a mighty mellow wine.

Had I looked like Pitt and acted like Di Nero, I’d be an

award winner and seen by millions at the movies and on TV.

Had I been a banana or an orange, I would have had appeal.

Had I been a paddock, horses would have grazed my grasses

and pooped on me.

Had I been a slot machine, I would have taken your money

and made a broken gambling fool out of you.

So many things I may have been had I not been me—

a shot in the dark, perhaps, or a Kit-Kat Bar...Bite me!

                                   -30-

Chris Hanch 7-6-2020