IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE (FAVORITE SCENE)

SPEAKING OF VINCENT...

RAIN, RAIN, GO AWAY...

Gustave Caillebotte

SONNY AND CHER REUNION (DAVID LETTERMAN)

NATALIE MERCHANT: CARNIVAL (LIVE PERFORMANCE ON DAVID LETTERMAN)

MY ALL TIME FAVORITE TV COMMERCIAL!

MY INTRODUCTION TO CLASSICAL MUSIC (1972!)

GEORGI CHERKIN PLAYS BEETHOVEN'S MOONLIGHT SONATA (3RD MOVEMENT)

INTELLIWENCH WANTS TO KNOW: FAVORITE SONG/PIECE NOW?

I'm leaning more towards Beethoven and Mozart as of late. Classical music calms the lunatic in me, and it's so rewarding to listen to as I scrub and dust my apartment until it is as shiny as the most expensive diamond  :-)

And what might your favorite be?

P.S. The talented chap with the magic fingers on the piano is Georgi Cherkin.

THREE DOG NIGHT: ONE IS THE LONELIEST NUMBER

Favorite song until I was twelve. Then I Heard Janis Ian's "At Seventeen" when I was thirteen. The rest is history...

ENCOUNTERING GOD ON MY WAY TO SAFEWAY

Jesus, it was heavy pouring rain, and I was glad I had my black umbrella to keep me dry. I passed by a church on my way to Safeway, and suddenly two girls and a dude asked me how they might find a cab ASAP? I told them to hotfoot it to Broadway (they had no umbrella).

They thanked me for the info, and all I could think about was how I am geographically impaired. That's why I choose to walk. Then I noticed the lighted stained  glass window, and I was happy all of this happened in front of a church. Perhaps a sign? I hope they found a cab. Amen.

BUKOWSKI:THE GENIUS OF THE CROWD

I GET BY WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS

for Roy

Since we must not die
Fight the system till the end
And love our true friends

Haiku © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

VEGANMAN: SEAN DUFFY

Consider this a sort of mini-review of an awesome book about the liberation of animals, and what the world would be like if the tables were suddenly turned. What makes us (human beings) so superior to other living creatures on this planet?

Some of us kill (on a regular basis) when it is completely insane to do so. I mean, too many of us kill animals for sport. And if I am to believe the news (I always consider multiple sources), we have finally reached the point of no return: killing animals is not enough - it's time to wipe out the human race.

This is what happens when people lose all respect for life - animal or human. If you value life (as I do), I encourage you to take a long peek at this much needed book: It contains humor, satire, tragedy, sadness, and hope for a better future for all living creatures. Here's the link: Veganman

I daresay it's the perfect Christmas gift.



Fiction
213 pages
Amazon Digital Services, Inc., 2015

Reader Rating: 10/10

Book Review © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

A CRACKER JACK WORLD

What is going on?
Folks were sweet to me today
Did I find the prize?

Haiku © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

A TREE GROWS IN PORTLAND...

by Ilan Shamir

A CHARLIE BROWN THANKSGIVING

Snoopy made the feast
The children were not happy
Popcorn and toast? No!


Haiku © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

DON'T KILL THE TURKEY: TRY THIS INSTEAD...

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MR. ROY!!

ONLY IN LIZZIE BORDEN COUNTRY (AKA AMERICA)

 

 

Christ on a cracker, take a serious look at the folks that pay good (hard earned money?) to spend a night at the site of this infamous double murder for profit. Only in America.

It comes as no great surprise that many of them are so morbidly obese. (Food to die for? WTH?) An insipid song, a wretched TV movie, and now this dark little house of blood for dollars. Poor little Lizzie Borden. At least she was able to keep her self-important head intact (unlike her doomed Step- Mommie and Daddy Dearest).

Wait! A posh New England jury found her innocent! A good Christian woman could never do such a horrible deed! Indeed. I said indeed! Good day, Sir!

JANIS JOPLIN: MERCEDES BENZ (AS LIVE AS IT'S GONNA GET!)

Click on image to make it larger!

THIS IS WHY I WALK!

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JONI MITCHELL: THE LAST TIME I SAW RICHARD

JANIS IAN: AT SEVENTEEN (LIVE)

ABBA: S.O.S.

PETE SEEGER: WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE? (LIVE)

2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY (BLUE DANUBE WALTZ)

JUDY COLLINS : BOTH SIDES NOW (LIVE PERFORMANCE)

2001: A SPACE ODYESSY (STRAUSS)

LOU REED: WALK ON THE WILD SIDE

BRUCE COCKBURN: CALL IT DEMOCRACY

I'VE KNOWN TWO LOVES

I've known two loves:
One was the sun
The other was the moon

I've embraced two loves:
One praised the light
The other yelped at the moon

I've lost two loves:
One fell with the sinking sun
One got lost in the seductive moonlight

I've known two loves:
The moon and the sun -
They insanely won't leave me alone.



Poem © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

NEIL YOUNG: HEART OF GOLD

2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY (FOR ROY)

ABBA: DANCING QUEEN

THE BYRDS: MR. TAMBOURINE MAN

THE DOORS: L. A. WOMAN

AWESOME SYLVIA PLATH AND TED HUGHES INTERVIEW!

RICHARD BLANCO'S INAUGURAL POEM: ONE TODAY (2013)

MAYA ANGELOU'S INAUGURAL POEM: ON THE PULSE OF MORNING (1993)

MATCHBOX TWENTY: 3 AM

MATCHBOX TWENTY: LONG DAY

MATCHBOX TWENTY: PUSH

R.E.M. :LOSING MY RELIGION

A MOZART SORT OF SUNDAY

PATTI SMITH: BECAUSE THE NIGHT

MEAT LOAF: TWO OUT OF THREE AIN'T BAD

A TRIBUTE TO SYLVIA PLATH AND TED HUGHES

THE KINKS: LOLA

DON McLEAN: AMERICAN PIE

DAN HILL: SOMETIMES WHEN WE TOUCH

JOURNEY: WHEEL IN THE SKY

LINDA RONSTADT: WHEN WILL I BE LOVED

Confession time: I stole the above poster (when I was 15) from a garage sale, and it really did help make my depressing little room a much less dark place to live. They only wanted a dollar for it, but I only had fifty cents. The rest is history. Please judge tenderly of me (to quote Miss Dickinson)  :-)

LINDA RONSTADT (AT THE DARK END OF THE STREET)

SIMPLE MINDS (DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME)

JANIS: THEY LAUGHED ME OUT OF CLASS, OUT OF TOWN, AND OUT OF THE STATE - SO I'M GOIN' HOME...

MOODY BLUES : NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN

SELF-PORTRAIT W/FAVORITE SPANISH TUNE

                                    

NIRVANA: SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT

AIR SUPPLY : ALL OUT OF LOVE

SURVIVOR: EYE OF THE TIGER

BILLY JOEL : PIANO MAN

JANIS JOPLIN: 1943 - 1970

HAIR: LET THE SUNSHINE IN

DYLAN THOMAS : POEM IN OCTOBER

WORD...

SUPER STAMP SUNDAY: JAMES DEAN

FALLING DOWN

In their memory...

New York City is falling down
as I rise from my bed
like a stubborn corpse
While people are burned
and buried alive
here I make stiff fingers move
shuffle my numb feet
toward life

Mad planes seek easy targets
in the sky Here I put on my
hat, let the elevator
drop me down
to the basement
below Maybe a miracle
will come in the mail
one day soon
The Disability checks

won't stop
I won't lose the subsidized
roof over my head
untold loaves of
bread will appear in the
empty cupboard like magic
And good blood will
flow through my sick
veins once again
Thank you
America

The Twin Towers fall
and some 3,000
souls are gone
Here I abandon my bed
sip weak coffee
and squint at the
12 inch screen

In New York City
a homeless man has
hung an American flag
across the side of his
cart But I only see
hunger and early
coffins here Red is the
color of blood, ashes
are white, bruises are
blue Now a barefoot girl

has wrapped a flag
around herself like a
shroud Her face is a
mask of ash, her dark
eyes are ringed with
blood, blue bruises
disfigure her feet
She is an American
saint on display

A letter in the mailbox
is a dangerous
thing now, but
I am already falling, falling
Since bombs or germs
won't make my world
worse: I open my mail
never think to wash my
hands, check the empty
cupboard one more time,
and wait for my world
to explode

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell 

THE AGONY OF SYLVIA LIKENS

Sylvia's nightmare
Christ's agony on the Cross
Nobody saved her

Sylvia Likens Home Page

Haiku © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell 

ROBIN WILLIAMS: 1951 - 2014

You made the world laugh
While death tortured you inside
The belt was too tight


Haiku © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

A POEM FOR SANDRA BLAND

We will not forget you

So now the so-called experts are telling us that Sandra was a major weed addict. Christ, can you not come up with a better fiction? Also, if your findings are based in fact: Why did Waller County not place Sandra in a suicide watch cell, instead of placing her in a cell all by herself?  She stated that she had felt suicidal in the past. So what's up with that? I'm dying to know the truth.


STILL I RISE

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Poem ©  Maya Angelou

THE STRANGE DEATH OF SANDRA BLAND

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The death of Sandra Bland breaks my heart. I've watched the sickening dashcam footage (she was yanked from her car and essentially tortured by a sadistic white cop with serious ego issues in Prairie View, Texas on July 10, 2015), seen the sad  jail footage of her being booked, finger printed, and having her mug shot taken, plus I've watched all of her Sandy Speaks videos. What happened to Sandra is like something right out of a Stephen King novel. It's an

American horror story, except it really did happen. And the world has lost a beautiful soul. Sandra Bland was intelligent, compassionate, and a fierce activist for the rights of African Americans and children. In fact, it was her self-confidence (she knew her rights) that pissed off the racist cop at the start. If you watch all of the dashcam footage closely, you will see that he went out of his way to follow her (like a shark), then did his very best to provoke her after he approached her vehicle.

Sandra was not a threat to him in any way. She answered the cop's questions, but he seemed hell bent on making it clear that he was the superior one. When she did not behave like a meek little lamb, he decided to escalate the situation by requesting that she put out her cigarette. When she did not comply he attempted to yank her from her car, and threatened to "light her up" with his taser. After Sandra got out of her car, the lunatic cop took her off to the side, and proceeded to throw her to the ground and handcuff her.

Sandra asked why she was being arrested (numerous times), and told him that he was hurting her. He actually said: "Good." Dear God - what sort of sick country are we living in? Now we are being told that she killed herself (death by hanging) after being unjustly held at the jail in Waller County for 3 days. Many think she was murdered. Because the truth is that black lives don't matter in America. Young black men are shot in the back by white racist cops, 9 innocent black folks were murdered in a church by a young white Confederate flag waving terrorist, and now Sandra Bland is stalked and tortured to death by a white cop that never should have been allowed to wear a cop's uniform in the first place.

Yes, I said tortured to death, because even if Sandra did take her own life (which seems unlikely, given her strong spirit and faith in God), she was driven to it by a sociopath with a badge. Her killer's name is Brian Encinia. And Sandra Bland puts him to shame.

P.S. Just to clarify a few points. I know that some folks are ranting that Brian Encinia was Hispanic (not white) so racism did not play a role in this American tragedy. Please. I was born and raised in Chicago, and most Hispanics look down on black people as intensely as most white people do. Also, the fact that he was a state trooper (not a cop) means that he had more power to abuse.

And regarding the possibility that a cigarette can be used as a weapon, so he had every right to request Sandra put it out: Encinia gave Sandra a pen to sign the warning he issued her. A sharp pen can be a very dangerous thing (in more ways than one). His ego was threatened. Period.

Essay © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

THERE'S A LIGHT...

In her memory

Shadows on the walls
The light cannot bring you back
But it's meant for you

Haiku © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell
  

AIDS? WHY SHOULD IT MATTER TO STRAIGHT PEOPLE?

Let us not forget

I remember the 1980s big time. Boy George, The Breakfast Club, big hair, Oprah, Wall Street, then along came AIDS. What was being done? Zero. Ronnie Reagan nodded and smiled in the White House for the cameras, while most of my friends (and eventually my lover) perished from this virus. Let us not forget.

Christian bigots ranted about family values,  yet Ryan White (an innocent youth) still died young (after he literally was forced to flee his hometown). Shame on a nation. I'm lucky to be alive. And I will continue to speak for those that can no longer speak. Again, let us not forget.

P.S. "How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."

— Anne Frank

 
Essay © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

 

DID TED HUGHES REALLY MURDER SYLVIA PLATH?

Ted and Sylvia when all was right with their world

I used to despise Ted Hughes. Not just because I considered him a mediocre poet, but because I blamed him for what happened to Sylvia Plath and Assia Wevill.

Then I read BIRTHDAY LETTERS. Sylvia was clearly not an easy person to know (or live with). And I had no choice but to become more objective: did she not try to take her own life during her late teens (as she so brilliantly wrote about in THE BELL JAR?) That suicide attempt happened before she even met Ted Hughes. So she had a history of clinical depression and self-destruction. Sad but true.

Regarding Assia Wevill. She was married (to another poet) at the time she and Ted were having their great love/lust affair. What exactly does that say about her ethics and state of mind?

I guess the bottom line is that poets are imperfect, and only their poetry comes close to that sacred place. So let's appreciate the poetry, and stop playing the blame game. Yes, Ted was something of a bastard (big time), but Sylvia and Assia were not exactly walking in the footsteps of Mother Teresa. So let's appreciate the sublime poetry, and do our best to forgive the all too human poets. Just my two cents.

Here's the last two stanzas of Sylvia Plath's LADY LAZARUS:


Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Beware

Beware.

Out of the ash

I rise with my red hair   

And I eat men like air.

******

Then a quite revealing (last) line from Ted Hughes poem RED:

But the jewel you lost was blue...



Essay © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell



                                                   

GONE

(In her memory)

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.


Poem © William Carlos Williams

BLACK LIVES MATTER/WHAT IF STRAIGHT PEOPLE COULDN'T GET MARRIED?

Dang, lots of progress has happened since 2008, and I am smiling big time.  Sure, you still might encounter some of those backwards nutcases that think black folks are inferior (don't say it to one of my favorite poets - Langston Hughes), but a lot has happened in recent times to make my mind and heart happy and amazed.

Yes, that silly Confederate flag needs to be hidden and shamed. It stands for bigotry, and only the most staunch bigot (hi, Archie Bunker!) would dare to defend it after what happened to those nine innocent people during a routine Bible study in Charleston, South Carolina such a short time ago. Bless them big time.

What happens to a dream deferred?

      Does it dry up

      like a raisin in the sun?

      Or fester like a sore—

      And then run?

      Does it stink like rotten meat?

      Or crust and sugar over—

      like a syrupy sweet?

      Maybe it just sags

      like a heavy load.

      Or does it explode?

—  Langston Hughes

As far as the gay marriage issue is concerned, I'm just wondering why the hell it took the Supreme Court so long to make it legal? Obama has something that is rarely found in government these days: intelligence and ethics. Let's hope this trend continues in the near future  :-)

6/27/15


P.S. Here's the original essay I wrote (about gay marriage) before everything changed for the better:


WHAT IF STRAIGHT PEOPLE COULDN'T GET MARRIED?

I actually overheard someone asking this question, while I was standing in line at Safeway the other day. There was an "article" in one of the tabloids about how gay marriage would bring America to its knees (bad pun on purpose) if it ever became legal. The man asking the question appeared gay to me, and he was chatting with the cashier - a straight male Christian. I assume this because he was sporting a wedding ring, plus his casual answer was: "God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, so your question is ridiculous."

The gay man's face tensed up, but he didn't say anything more. However, the incident really got me thinking about the gay marriage issue, and how some straight folks seem to be clueless when it comes to understanding why so many gay folks are fighting for the right to legally get married.

Let's imagine (to help me make my point) a world in which straight people can't get married. A world in which gays and lesbians are casually stating, "God made Adam and Steve (or Amanda and Eve), not Adam and Eve." A world in which straight people see gays and lesbians getting married on television, in the movies, newspapers and magazines, but never any straight couples. A world in which gays and lesbians defiantly hold protests every time straight people fight for the right to legally get married. A world in which gays and lesbians openly hold hands and/or kiss each other in public, but straight people risk ridicule or worse - if they try to express their love for each other in the world.

Now let's throw in the Bible for good measure (pretend there are sections which clearly state that heterosexuality is an abomination, and the holy union between man and man, woman and woman - is something which pleases God to no end). If you are a heterosexual, how would all of this make you feel? Would it make you angry, depressed, or apathetic? Especially if the idea of straight marriage was considered a "ridiculous" one by many.

Essay © 2007 by Dylan Mitchell

KINDNESS IS STILL ALIVE: ELSA

CLOSE CALL

Carmelita on the mend...

I tried to get in
But the door was slammed shut tight
Someone's scream saved me.


Haiku © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell
 

CAITLYN JENNER COMES ALIVE!

Wow! You go, girl   :-)

CARMELITA IS ALL SET FOR THE SUMMER...

GO, BRUCE JENNER! GO!

What is infamy
Other than a poor man's fame?
Go, Bruce Jenner! Go!

Haiku © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

PORTLAND, OREGON: CITY OF PINK CHICKENS

Click on images

Recently, two pink chickens were set free (for 24 hours) at Waterfront Park by Bruce Whitman. He had dyed the chickens feathers with beet juice and food coloring:  "I wanted to take them down there, have people wake up, walk down to the waterfront and smile, have a laugh, and start their day off right."

Only in Portland   :-)

TRUE STORY: THE UGLY REPUBLICAN

In late 1985, I was invited to the worst party of my life. I was invited because I was a poverty stricken poet, and the wealthy host thought it would be amusing if someone like me mingled with people that were filthy rich (and Republican).

His house was grand (14 rooms, not counting the 3 bathrooms). There was an abundance of food and alcohol, and I was the only conspicuously gay person there. After I heard a group of people laughing and joking about Rock Hudson and AIDS, I grabbed a Heineken, and decided to hide out for awhile in the first bathroom I could find. This was a mistake.

After I closed the door, I took a big gulp of the expensive beer, and began to take in my surroundings. The bathroom was huge. Double sink vanity, a jacuzzi, walk-in shower, and a little couch one could sit on. Hanging above the couch was an impressive oil painting. All this space and splendor certainly put my bare studio apartment to shame.

I actually had to search for the toilet (it was not in plain sight), and once I found it I could not believe my eyes: An entire wall was covered with purple, brown, and green food stamps. At first, I thought it was just some kind of very weird wallpaper. But I leaned closer, and was sickened to discover that the wall was indeed completely covered with real food stamps. What sort of fuckery is this? I had to get out of there.

I dropped the empty beer bottle in a waste basket, put on my hat and gloves (I was still wearing my coat), and left the godawful party in a hurry. As I was closing the back door, I could hear much laughter and classical music. I was chilled to the bone, but it had absolutely nothing to do with the wicked wind and falling snow outside.

Essay © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

Van Gogh and Grant Wood...

Are they just humble/shy?

SUPER STAMP SUNDAY: HOW TO BECOME A MILLIONAIRE...

Block of inverted "Jenny" stamps...

Misprinted in 1918, the stamps bear the image of an upside-down plane in flight. The stamps have ranked among the most valuable for years. Many editions of the Guinness Book of World Records listed the images as the most valuable stamps of all-time.

The plane is a Curtiss JN-4 (“Jenny”). This was a World War 1 trainer plane that moved to Airmail service after the War. It is known that 700 of the mistakes were printed, but inspectors only caught approximately 600 of the mistakes. The block of stamps that was sold is possibly the rarest of them all. The printing plate's number is visible in the left corner. No other stamp in the series contains that feature.

The stamp was auctioned by the Robert A. Siegel Auction Galleries, INC. The total price of sale, after buyer's premium, was $2,970,000.00. The last Jenny stamp sold at auction, also sold at Siegel Auctions, brought $525,000.00 in June, 2005.

http://scoop.diamondgalleries.com/Home/4/1/73/1014?articleID=50832

P.S. I know most (if not all) the original Jenny stamps are already owned by collectors and such. But I used to collect stamps, and I'm eccentric as hell. So who's to say that another stamp collector (now deceased) didn't keep his most interesting and valuable stamps hidden away in some battered old metal box or trunk? And his unsuspecting family stashed all his "worthless" belongings away in the attic, after they inherited his property?  You never can tell. Truth really is often stranger than fiction :-)

Update:  Mystic Stamp Company sells Inverted Jenny plate block; purchase price ‘north of $4.8 million’  YIKES!!

AMERICAN GOTHIC (REVISITED)

(for Carmelita)

The portrait was his idea: That
proud half-blind farmer with the
menacing pitchfork in his strong
hand. I am barely there. The
Victorian brooch you see
belonged to our mother: A
lasting St. Valentine’s Day gift
from Father - in 1892: Roses are
so perishable. The merciful
townspeople are not ignorant of
my brother’s unnatural intent:
Their glittering eyes told me
only I am to blame. So I remain
at home - in my Father’s house:
A spinster recluse, not right in
the head. Blissfully corrupting
my poor brother’s bed.

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell 
Painting © Joe Phillips

PICTURE PERFECT FRIDAY: BE MY VALENTINE...

for Roy

SYLVIA PLATH: 1932 - 1963

Woody Allen as literary critic...

WORDS

Axes After whose stroke the wood rings, And the echoes! Echoes traveling Off from the center like horses. The sap Wells like tears, like the Water striving To re-establish its mirror Over the rock That drops and turns, A white skull, Eaten by weedy greens. Years later I Encounter them on the road---- Words dry and riderless, The indefatigable hoof-taps. While From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars Govern a life. Poem © Sylvia Plath

LET US PRAISE THE HUMBLE PHONE BOOTH...

Phone Booth (the movie)

God, I miss the humble phone booth. We never had a phone when I was growing up, so the only way I could call somebody (even during an emergency) was to hotfoot it to the phone booth right across the street from our apartment.

Apart from the affordable cost (10 cents), it was really cool to hang out in the heated booth for an hour or two during the winter. I'd often bring along a cup of coffee, dial up a few friends and just make myself at home. It was a safe place where I could feel more connected to people and the world.

Just about everybody I know has a cell phone now, and I cannot remember the last time I saw a phone booth. I sometimes check out movies from the library that feature an awesome phone booth moment or two: The Birds, A Patch of Blue, Superman, Rosemary's Baby, The Rose, and Phone Booth - which I'm pretty sure is the only movie in which a phone booth is the biggest star. (Oddly enough, I was never shot at, verbally abused by hookers, or bothered by people when I visited my phone booth during the early 1970s. It really is a different world now...)

By the way, I haven't seen any of the new Superman movies. How does Clark Kent manage to become Superman now that phone booths have become obsolete? Does he dash into the nearest Men's room or something? Perhaps at a public library? That's the only place I can think of that will allow its patrons to use the Men's room for free. At most establishments he'd have to buy/order something first, and stand in line for a good ten minutes or so. It's all a sad mystery to me. Let us praise the humble phone booth.

Essay © 2015 by Dylan Mitchell

MY PAPA'S WALTZ

for Karen

MY PAPA'S WALTZ

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.

- Theodore Roethke