Time and Again

1947, the year of my birth. From

my current place in time, I look back

and realize I was born only 20-years

after 1927. When I was old enough

to have some concept of time those

20-years seemed to be in another

century, long ago historically. Now

nearing my 74^th year I realize how

compressed time really is. The old

golden days of yore, the rotten days

of Depression and war were never

really that far away. From biplanes

in April to men on the moon in June.

Know what I’m saying. We are the

history we’re living through. Today

in a nutshell is only the day after it

all happen, historically speaking,

that is. A few years here and there

and Gutenberg and Hemingway,

Shakespeare and Attila the Hun may

have lived next Door.

Time and your fleeting ways, look

what you’ve done to me...You are

a bitch and a charlatan indeed.

On my best days you lie to me;

on my worst days, you have made

a believer out of me.

                 -30-

Chris Hanch 3-16-2021 

Speak Slowly, Please!

 

Yesterday I had a major problem

with my photo shop computer program.

The screen froze on me, and even a reboot

didn’t alieviate the issue. So, I looked up

the manufacturer’s phone number on

Google and placed my call.

Oh no, I recognized the woman’s thick

accent on the other end. What part of

the world am I speaking to, I asked her?

India, she responded back to me. I asked

her to please speak slowly for I was having

a hard time trying to understand, and no,

I don’t speak Hindi either. It’s a beautiful

language, I am sure, but there must be

dozens of dialects, none of which I am

capable of translating.

I was having a hard enough time with her

sing-song variety of English. Now, I had

two problems, my software and her

linguistics.

There is no way for me to make the

following long story short. If my

more than three hours of confusion

and intense frustration with a host

of customer service and technical

help flummoxed me to near insanity,

I am certain you would hate me

enough to never read another piece

of my work ever again.

Anyhow, without me repeating a

thousand times, Please help me, speak

slowly. I do not U N D E R S T A N D!

I bought a new and improved program

instead, and had them download it

remotely which took another two hours.

I must say thank god the lengthy process

was done in silence. I never thought I could

stand by watching the slow percentages of

the proceedure tick tediously away before

my eyes on the computer screen. Never

had I ever figured I would be so amenably

gleeful to virtually watch paint dry over

listening to a person spew out in disorien-

ting rhythms their version of English

which I could barely understand.

Even had we both spoken the same language,

I’m sure today’s technology alone would have

still gotten the best of me.

                   -30-

Chris Hanch 3-13-2021

Works for Me

 

I am generally not

a suspicious man.

Neither am I

a Supreme Being

believer.

Some might say,

by the grace of

God, and given all

I have been through,

I am fortunate to

still be alive and

kicking.

Even considering

my advancing age

and poor physical

condition, indeed

I still feel lucky

to be a modest

functioning

human being.

I suppose if

I had to credit

Fate or Fortune

for my longevity,

I could claim

my waking up

the same

every day is

because I pray

the same thought,

giving praise

that everything

remains the same.

Actually I’m

not thanking a

supreme deity,

but instead it’s

the mysterious

works of the

mortal flesh

and blood which

sustains me.

Again, just lucky

some would say,

along with a bit

of suspicion

which resides

inside of me.

(I figure, dressing

in the same

clothes day after

day may also come

into play.)

What the hell,

seems to work

for the likes of

the same old

everyday me.

           -30-

Chris Hanch 3-12-2021

The Me I'm Made Up to Be

 

Shamrocks symbolize the

Holy Trinity the Irish say.

Leprechauns are mischievous

solitary fairies I am told.

At the rainbow’s end shines

a pot of gold.

I’ve got Irish blood in me

from my maternal side—

A Horan Irish woman married

a Deichmann Germanic man.

Paternally, Grandpa, Hajiannis,

was from Greece;

Grandma, Prokes, was of Bohemian

decent.

Me, I’m a Heinz 57, so they say,

born right here in the good ole USA,

a mongrel to be sure,

or if you prefer, a condiment best suited

for ham and eggs.

Speaking of which,

I like mine over easy, if you please.

                -30-

Chris Hanch 3-11-21

Now You Know

 

Now you know

the loneliness and

despair of

restriction

and being alone.

Now you know

not being able to go

where you need or

wish to go.

Now you know

the void between

you and family,

not being close to

friends and loved

ones with whom

you want to be.

Now you know

not being with

the many

engaged as

community in

social activity.

Now you know

the absence of

touch and feel,

sans the emotional

warmth and interaction

with others.

Now you know

the every day

confinement

of body, mind

and spirit,

and the trauma

this banishment

has revealed.

Now you know

a loss of

close contact

and the precious

gift of human

camaraderie.

Now you know

what the elderly,

the rejected,

the imprisoned,

the frail and

enfeebled feel—

this dreaded

social distancing

the Coronavirus

has revealed.

Oh yes,

now you know,

and desperately

wish it wasn’t so.

Now you know

the loss of life

and suffering,

the direction

from which

the bitter

and foreboding

North Wind blows.

           -30-

Chris Hanch 3-10-2021

When I am Unable

 

I find the need to write about

the possible reality for me.

Why? Because of my advancing

age and the mounting of my

physical and mental incapa-

bilities.

When the words come no more

and I am rendered speechless…

When every summer and spring

are lost to endless winters alone…

When I have lost the feeling of

security and the surety of home…

When I am unable to bridge

the gap between

yesterday with today and

tomorrow’s abyss arrives the same…

When I am here and not there

as the knock of friendship

arrives…

When music and art fail to

soothe and inspire…

When the sun, moon and stars

no longer shine a mystery and

wonder to me…

When I am incapable of caring

for others and cannot receive

their charitable outreach to me…

When humor fails to bring

laughter and common sense

no longer achieves…

When I can no longer stand

on my own and accept

or perform my

dwindling responsibilities…

When trying loses its meaning

When I no longer search for,

laugh and weep for the childhood

recollection in me…

When the people and places I have

known fade into oblivion

and I couldn’t care less about

what oblivion means.

It is then I am done, for I have

lost the joyous reality of you

and the essence meaning of me.

I pray I live knowing one more

lucid day in remembrance

before that day arrives.

You wouldn’t happen to have

a cigarette on you, would you?

          -30-

Chris Hanch 3-8-2021

Concours Ready

 

It’s not that I didn’t like or love you

that I left. There have been some others

with whom I couldn’t live and get along.

Leaving can be hard especially when

there is important work which needs

to be done.

Like an old, worn-out car, it was ob-

vious to me that I needed a rebuild

with many vital parts either missing

or needing to be replaced.

On my checklist, hypothetically, I

needed factory air installed to keep

me from overheating when things

got hot and steamy.

Soggy and rusting in place, my frame

needed to be replaced. With knocking

and grinding, an engine rebuild and

drive train overhaul were in order.

What a mess!

My personal restomod would take

several years in the making, and that

was after finding a shop capable of

such an undertaking.

I just thought you’d like to know, I

have since been restored. And now

I shine in like new, period correct,

in concours condition.

I feel like a million bucks, and find

using the classic car metaphor to be

fittingly apropos. I’m reborn; let’s

both hit the road and go!

Of course this kind of rebuild for

mere humans is beyond feasibility.

Time takes an irreversible tole on

flesh and blood, as the graveyard

heap or crematory is the stark

reality for the likes of you and me.

However, a functioning spare part

or two which may be salvageable

for another in need still remains

within the realm of possibility.

In the automotive rebuild world,

you know, there are donor cars

as well.

Kick my tires and let’s take a spin

while we’re still able.

-30-

Chris Hanch 3-5-2021