What in Hall? (in Memory of Brother Dave)

The Flamingo, Paris Las Vegas, The Bellagio, MGM Grand,

NewYork-New York, The Venecian, Caesars Palace.

They’ve all closed everything down, no foot and street traffic,

no hotels, no casinos, no retaurants and bars.

Imagine no one at the slots, the roulette tables, no backjack

and poker...Zip, zero, nada!

COVID-19 Virus, you know.

My brother, Dave, who passed away last year made his annual

pilgrimage to the Vegas Strip in the Fall every year.

They can restrict the faithful from flocking to Lourdes and Fatima,

to Mecca and Medina, Dave would shrug his shoulders and claim.

Those guys can stay at home and pray. God is everywhere.

But Vegas, that’s a different kind of sacred—it’s play instead

of pray.

Damned virus, he might say were he alive today. They’ve shut down

the Strip in Las Vegas.

What in hell is this world coming to?

                                          -30-

Chris Hanch 4-23-2020

Why Me?

Before I die, I ask myself what was this life of mine

all about? I would like to know.

Even then, there would be more questions to answer.

I always had an interest in archaeology, anthropology

history and astronomy, but struggled with the rigid

process of academically getting a formal degree.

So, I became an artist and writer instead. I traveled

extensively, photographing subjects and locations

which interested me. I learned from the likes of Mark Twain,

Carl Sagan, Bill Moyers, Anthony Bourdain, Neil deGrasse-Tyson,

Joseph Campbell and other celebraties and educators from books

and on TV. So you see, one last question would never be

sufficient for me. But, had I only one remaining in my repertoire

of interrogatories, it may likely be the selfish choice lingering in

my mind: Why me?

Having lived the ofttimes sordid and haphazard, scatter-shot life

I embarked upon so indiscriminately, I submit that this is a matter

best left to the professional geneticists and psychologists and their

scientific studies of human trends, tendencies and behaviors.

Biology and or psychology? Those happen to be two subjects

which have always puzzled, mystified and beaten the living

shit out of me. Simply put, for me anyway, it always seemed to

come down to this: I’m bored as hell, and I need a change.

                                           -30-

Chris Hanch 4-23-2020

Something About Beliefs

Some folks believe in reincarnation; some folks

follow the notion of heaven and hell and a life hereafter.

Can’t say rightly I expect either.

No one passed I have known before has ever

communicated with me personally.

That said, I do respect those who have their spiritual

and religious ideologies as long as they don’t proselytize

and try to change mine.

Should you, however, come across a Brahman bull

sitting on a rock under a tree

with pen and pad in hand, writing poetry,

call out my name.

Should I nod my head in the affirmative, chances are

reincarnate, that could be me.

Cattle are incapable of articulating speech patterns, you know.

                                       -30-

Chris Hanch 4-22-2020

Fond Rembering, 1988

Today, I’m dreaming Santorini,

a Greek Island in the Aegean Sea,

a quaint sunbathed cafe,

a glass of Retsina wine glistening

in front of me,

a mild sea breeze,

the view, ochre and whitewashed

abodes climbing the hillsides,

fisherman's boats tied

to the rocky shore hundreds

of feet below,

late day, waiting for the gold

and crimson sunset,

millennia in the making,

a serenely peaceful way

to end a splendid day,

dozens of travelers and residents

enjoying the same.

Neither too sweet nor too bitter,

I sip from my mellow Greek wine.

                       -30-

Chris Hanch 4-21-2020

Chip Off the Old Block

He’s a fine young man, they would tell my dad,

men mostly my dad’s age, sometimes a bit older.

A fine young man indeed, they told dad in front

of me. I never saw the fine, and I was still only

fourteen, not quite a man yet that I could see.

Perhaps maybe one day, I might be what they

were saying about me. Then again, that remained

to be seen. A chip off the old block, some of them

would say, as they grinned a silly grin when they

did. Anyway, it looked like a silly, insincere grin to

me. What in hell did a chip off the old block look

like, anyway? Surely not like my dad or me.​ My

dad sure looked pleased. The compliments were

meant for him, but only embarrassed me. Not be-

cause I didn’t want to look like my dad, mind you.

To me, my dad was a handsome man, and I guess

most any man would be proud to have a son who

physically or characteristically took after him. I

was only fourteen, thin as a rail with a few pimples

on my face. It was embarrassing for me to be com-

pared with my dad. I only wished I looked like

him. And much later on in life, I saw that there

was a marked similarity in looks between my dad

and me. Now, I raised a son of my own. And when

I introduced him to people I knew, not one of them

ever said he looked like me. Probably because at

an age in his early teens he had red hair and freckles

which I never did. He got those physical traits from

his mother’s side of the family. As far as I know,

no one ever said to her, your son is a chip off the

old block. My son’s mom is a first generation

German, and given her misunderstanding of that

customary American expression, and the language
barrier, she would have more than likely “knocked
their block off.”

                             -30-

Chris Hanch 4-22-2020

The Question Arises

The book on the shelf has been moved.

Items in the drawer are rearranged.

A pair of scissors is relocated to a more

convenient place.

How many will notice one leaf fallen

from the tree.

Was the admonition meant for you or me?

Is a single blade of grass accounted for

after the lawn has been mowed?

In which case are worms differentiated by

their length?

How often do clouds on an overcast day

change shape?

Who is responsible for keeping track of railroad

ties between St. Louis and Memphis?

These are situations and questions which may

go unanswered on any given day.

Who in hell cares, you may say?

How will I pay rent on the first of the month?

Will the old man next door survive to see

another day?

Priorities! Damn it, man! Only that which matters to

me is relevant in these proceedings.

Then one day the prognosticator writes her greeting,

Dear friend…

and the question may arise, is it you with whom she

is speaking?

The warning has been sounded before—Take care;

pay attention to the simple seeming.

                         -30-

Chris Hanch 4-21-2020

Road Trip

Driving across New Mexico in my ’63 Corvette

split window—1991, Interstate 40, 75mph, April,

sun shining brightly in skies of deep blue.

Past Tucumcari on my way to Albuquerque and a new

job. An adventurous and romantic trip to say the least.

Actually, I was driving a 1988 Ford Escort Station

Wagon I bought second hand for $900 from an old

man in St. Louis.

Couldn’t afford a Corvette of any vintage, and never

in my life even sat in one. Just pretending to be like

those two guys on the Route 66 TV Show in the 1960s.

I hoped like hell the Escort would make it all the way.

Other than the year, model and make of the car I was

driving, everything was pretty much the same. That

Ford Escort eventually got me to where I was going.

Oh, and packed to the hilt with everything I owned,

that old Escort topped out only about 70mph downhill.

Actually or in my wildest fantasy, I couldn’t have carried

all my belongings in a Corvette anyway.

                                -30-

Chris Hanch 4-20-2020