Haven

While laying head to your chest

Breasts ruffling my hair

Heart beating in ear

I wonder

As I circle my hand around your belly

What would our children have been?

Mile High Oral

The aircraft cabin is dark. It is the middle of the night and three hundred or so passengers are attempting to secure a good nights sleep, propped up in seats, with undersized pillows, thin blankets, eye shades, and ear plugs. One has the impression of rows of human cargo packaged and trussed up for delivery.

Those unable to sleep periodically get up and go for short walks up and down the narrow aisles. A circuit has been mutually agreed without consultation, we will walk up the left side aisle to the rear of the craft, through the rear galley, down the right side to the front economy class galley, and around again. For those wishing to shorten the circuit they can cut thought center galley.

This modern aircraft is using a low level background light that washes changing colours onto the ceiling constantly, slowly, evolving from green through blues, to whites, reds, yellows and greens again. One has the impression of an artificial aurora borealis. The woken walking emerge from the dark with ghoulish hues tinted upon their tired faces.

My seat is five rows back of the centre galley. I watch with bemused curiosity these passengers in circuit, biding their time on this long flight, 35,000 feet above the Pacific, staggering in the gentle turbulence, a silent procession of the bored.

A couple emerge from the cabin in front of mine. She is taller than he and has her hand on his shoulder trying to steady herself on the walk to the lavatory at the center galley. They emerge from the turquoise blue into the dull white light at the galley. At the lavatory door he motions for her to use the room first. No she motions, you first. This is a pantomime these two have followed before and you always know his gallantry will be appreciatively accepted.

The door closed and locked he stands watch, his turn next. The gentleman turns to explore the area immediately around him and he stops to consider a small two shelf alcove. The top shelf has a selection of salty snacks placed thoughtfully there for passengers needing to fill a nocturnal hunger. The bottom shelf has a couple carafes of water and plastic cups. He has a thinking look on his face. With a flourish of efficient usefulness he pours a cup of water, procures a toothbrush and toothpaste from his pocket, prepares the brush, dips it into the cup, turns to the lavatory door, cup in one hand brush in the other, and commences to brushing.

Staring at the door he thoughtfully brushes each tooth working his way around the front and back of the top teeth and then repeating on the bottom. He stares at the door for a moment realizing his hands are full, the water cup full, and he has nowhere to spit, the sink being in the lavatory occupied by his wife. No matter, he commences to take another run around his mouth, staring hopefully at the locked door, willing his wife to complete her lavatory business quickly.

At the end of circuit two toothpaste froth is starting to dribble from his mouth. The white is emphasized by the now almost black light purple from the ambient lighting. He is also starting the uncomfortable squeeze motion bladder dance punctuating the reason he and his wife came back to the lavatory in the first place.

He runs a third circuit and a fourth through his mouth. The froth coupled with an uncomfortable contortionistic dance now highlighted by an orange hue leaves one with the impression a deranged rabid being has found his way onto the aircraft. His stare at the door is one of desperation. He looks ready to explode.

A fifth circuit around his mouth, trying to scoop back the frothy paste now dribbling to his shirt, the pained expression of a man desperate. The door opens. In the narrow aisle way they will need to maneuver around each other. Being taller she didn't immediately notice him contorted there. The first thing she spied was the top shelf of salty snacks. Reaching past him she scoops up a bag of potato crisps, opens it, and thoughtfully offers the first to him.

His expression changed from one of pain, as his body momentarily recovered control of his bladder. Standing tall the gentleman simply stood with arms open, cup of water in the left hand, toothbrush, in the right, froth dribbling down his chin. She looked at his incredulous expression, shrugged, pushed by him, and chewed her first chip on her way back to her seat. He watched her stagger down the aisle for a moment. The light turning red, he recovers his composure, and dives into the lavatory.

Transcendence

Today I watched in peaceful recollection as my grandchildren, my daughter and her husband, and a close friend enjoyed a warm end of summer day applying chalk to sidewalks, making pictures of peace, and of family, and messages short-lived until the next rain or until life’s tread wore them all away.

When I was young I used to visit this park at least once per week.  It was part of our after Church family ritual to walk across this homage to a World War 1 battle hard won on the lives of young Canadians fighting with a regiment based from Winnipeg.  In our family Church, the flags of Vimy Ridge hang in quiet repose to the memory of those soldiers.

Once per year this park would become the remembrance place for the Queens Own Cameron Highlanders.  Wreaths were laid, the Chaplain would say meaningful words.  It was the only time I truly respected my step-father, the Chaplain.

And today my family and my friend play in this park.  They are celebrating peace at an event staged by War Child.  They are celebrating life through art. And I am eternally grateful to my friend who told me of this event.  And I am eternally grateful to my family who bring me such pleasure and joy.  And I am eternally grateful to those soldiers, for it is them who gave me back to this place, a place where humanity can enjoy a summers day, carefree, and happy.

Traveler

“Do you do the sex”, asks the Cabby, his thick Indian accent lending an air of legitimacy to the question.  I could have been on an analysis couch rather than the back seat of his business.  As direct a question as I have ever heard thinks I.  The answer is known of course.  The response circumspect and then a relinquished affirmative.

“This, sir is good.  At our age we should always do the sex.  Was it good dear sir?”

I hadn’t really thought deeply about “it” until now.  “Yes”, say I, a silly grinned recollection of our first time, not hurried, all natural, all beautiful.  Friends and strangers caught in a moment of our time, of our choosing.

“Then dear sir it is all very good.  And you two are coming together again and that too is also good dear sir.”

“Ah, we are here.  Many wishes and safe travel.  And always do the sex dear sir.  It is healthy for both of you.”

He is well tipped, of course.  This is a conversation I needed to hear.  A sage affirmation to push away all doubt.  Two separate people living two separate lives living apart in mutual caring.

Requiem Retaliate

What madness awaits within these walls

The throngs convinced of need uncertain

A hive of activity to gain

Inactive uncertain outcomes

Economy built and thrust down

On the weight of mass folly

Convinced our duty to our nation

Lays solely upon the quota

Of a need unneeded

Lemmings all

Driven to consumption by politicos

In mad belief of our way of life

A furious blend of layer upon layer

Systematically designed to hail a winner

For which there must be equal or perhaps greater losers

This simple orb of ours

Will mythically sustain this forever

So long as someone loses

So long as someone suffers

And that someone is over there

Ha!

You shall all lose says the orb

Except for I

For it will be upon your corpse

That I shall renew

That those who have slain themselves

Have built upon my richness

And created earthly wealth again

You, driven by inexorable selfish desire

To consume

From me

From those not of your stature

We shall rise you know

Me the earth

Them the meek

We seek only fair balance

A distribution of the bounty I can provide to you all

Eschew these shops, the madness of this mall

Seek that only that is truly a need

Find warmth in the beauty of my scene

Seek comfort in the company of your friends

Share your art to the betterment of you all

Make love in companionship in friendship

Dream a future for your children

The greatest blessing of all

A sign your life may carry on

Should you wish it

Should I see your wish true

Should I grant your wish

The balance of your stock

Your mercantile trade

A meeting of need

A sharing of this wealth

Provide to me only that which is beautiful

And I shall provide to you all that is bountiful

Simple and balanced

I now can only hope 

Slap

Slap

Unexpected

From left field

Contentment to wondering

I hate you… slap

Really

What did I do again to deserve your derision?

Slap

Slap

The mute sits uninspired

The deaf reclines to the unknown

The blind cocks to curiosity

And we all aspire to own our own.

Lost to be the lone.