The Button Tin

My mother had a tin container

that had once held a fruitcake,

and now it held buttons.

Buttons were prized in those times.

Before an old shirt became rags,

the buttons were salvaged and placed

in the tin.  Buttons from dresses,

pants, coats, shirts, blouses,

even the eyes of a rag doll were

removed, a sort of organ donation

before the toy was laid to rest.

In the early days each button had a story.

My mother remembered the dress or

shirt a particular button came from, and

she remembered some incident that

happened while that garment was worn.

The buttons were saved out of Great

Depression fear that someday you would

need a button the size of a lady bug, and

when that day came you wouldn’t be able

to afford to buy one.  This huge tin of buttons,

many older than me, were still in her sewing

room after she died.  No one felt the need

to inherit all those buttons.  They were about

as popular as a fruitcake in late June.

Dewberries

He was old enough to explore the fields

no longer needing line of sight supervision

which is how he came across the

span of wild dewberries hugging the earth.

They belonged to no one, which allowed them

to belong to him.  He carried his baseball

cap full of bleeding berries back to his mother.

She was delighted and gave the boy

a large pan and instructions to harvest more

berries, describing what made the fruit ripe

and warning the boy to watch for snakes.

The warning turned this chore into an

adventure, this tiny additional danger, this

possibility, however slight, that he could,

maybe, just possibly die in service to his family,

he imagines how they would grieve their loss

of him, how wonderful all this was, and how

much sweeter the cobbler would be if he

managed somehow to survive.

Worries 1962

PE.  Gym.  Physical Education.  They had mandatory

nude showering.  I was worried, never having

been nude in front of anyone since the age of 5

and that was uncomfortable, memorably uncomfortable.

Would the other boys laugh at me?  Would they have hair

down there?  Would they describe my penis to girls?

“He’s got a  teeny-weeny peenie.”  Would I be the only

one with skid marks on his tighty whities?

The mysteries of puberty

were frightening and unavoidable.

Later there were new worries.

Dodge balls aimed at the balls.  My balls.

The flinch game with the mandatory

punch of the shoulder for punishment.

I learned in 1962 that worry is anticipated

pain that doesn’t always happen, or isn’t

always as bad as one would expect.

But there were days when I should have worried more.

My Father’s Way

My father’s way to praise

is to offer criticism.

Have you thought of getting your

stomach stapled?

Have you considered taking some

life drawing classes?

People buy landscapes.  Why don’t you do that. 

Maybe then you could sell something.

Each phrase means, with deep

sincerity, “You are inferior, and I

love you enough to say so.”

The Dog's Flaw

It is not a dog eat dog world because

the dogs I know would not behave like that.

It most certainly does not rain cats and dogs,

that’s just ridiculous.  What would you do,

step in a Poodle?  And a dog day afternoon

sounds ominous IF you watched the move,

but most dogs nap around noon and after.

A three dog night is not just the name

of a singing group, but it has something to

do with cold nights in Australia.  I guess if you are

cold enough you cover yourself with a dog for warmth,

which would make a three dog night an especially

cold night indeed.  Sadly, cat’s have 9 lives which is their

main fault.  Sadly, dog’s have only one life,

and as far as I can tell, that’s really their only flaw.

My Last Dog

I wake to his cold moist nose

touching my arm.  Without words

with only that one touch I am touched

inside, touched profoundly, and I know

I’m needed.  I am loved.  My dog needs

to pee and he has learned not to pee

inside the house.  His need is a fundamental

need, it is a real need, but it is need permeated

with respect.  The truth is, I’ve never felt

more needed, more respected, I have never

felt this level of adoration.  At my age, this

may be my last dog.  This dog has a good chance

to outlive me.  It would be accurate to say

I saved the very best, for my last.

I Want

Part of me has always wanted to be a good person.
Not the part that makes good decisions, unfortunately.
I feel all conflicted.  I have a bifurcated soul -- I am not 
confused.I am not an accidentally bad person,
I'm bed on purpose.  I do not steal, or fornicate, 
unless you go to that lust in your heart part.  I am 
not cruel to animals, but a lack of faults does not
make me faultless.  A list of sins I have never committed
does not make me sinless.  Having perfection by omission
does not, in the least sense make me perfect.  My one 
and only perfection is in being perfectly selfish.  I want, want, want.