(The moon as it appeared this morning…through the lens of my iPhone and a clarity filter, which is more like a grain-inducing filter.)
Eighteen days into 2014’s NaPoWriMo, and so far, so good. There’s no time to go back and compare what I wrote last year, to this year’s offerings. In a way, it’s not fair to do that, since I had WAY more time to write last time around. Twelve days to go.
And now, without anymore stalling, today’s haiku…
shiny night mirror
good at reflecting sun’s light
dawn readies itself
The other day at Costco, the guy
at the door checked my receipt.
He handed it back to me
and said, “Here you go, Pops!”
I instantly DISLIKED the name.
It was so dismissive
Do I look anything like
Speed Racer’s father?
Do I look like I might own
a root beer company?
Do I look like I manage
my own a malt shop?
Do you ever call a
young dude “Pops?”
Do you ever call a
middle-aged guy “Pops?”
You only call old men “Pops,”
and I’m not ready to be old.
So, I’m not ready
to be called “old.”
Perhaps you should
try a little respect.
How about pretending
you have some manners?
And if you absolutely can’t resist,
you may refer to me as…
“Oh, Venerable One.”
That’d be cool.
(His name was Ted, but I simply called him, “Tedrick Halftail.”
As of this writing, our cat, Ted, has been gone for a month. He was a cat who behaved more like a dog. In fact, he loved us like a dog, coming when we called him, reveling in our company, almost as if he much preferred human interaction than hanging out with any mere animal. There wasn’t’ an aloof bone in his body.
After so much time has passed without seeing him, I’ve given up hope for a Lassie-kind of ending, where one day we look, and see him limping slowly over the hill, wounded, but alive, making his way home after whatever ordeal he survived.
We all miss him. I miss him, and in tribute to the little guy, I repost a poem I wrote about Ted back in November, 2013.)
Ted is our outdoor cat
he reduces the rodent population
which makes rattlesnakes
look elsewhere for food
Ted is a real sweetheart
he likes hanging out with people
enjoys being petted and brushed
and even holds still for baths
Ted is a first-rate hunter
he stalks his prey in nearby fields
slinking through overgrown grass
and long-ago-abandoned fruit trees
Ted shows us respect
by bringing us lizards or mice
he sets them down on the
ground in front of us
Ted plays with his trophies
careful not to let them get away
then, when he’s ready
he puts an end to playtime
Ted once got himself caught
in a broken garage window
to extricate himself
he chewed off his tail
Ted’s experience and
subsequent trip to the vet
Left him completely unfazed
As if nothing happened at all
Ted’s one tough son-of-a-gun-of-a-cat
a hunter, a pet, a companion, and guardian
we all know he’s one of those cats
that comes along once in a very long while
August heat bathed the foothills
pear trees and Johnson grass thrived
silver gray lines of fanning sprinklers
kept the orchards emerald and ready
pillars of wooden bins
appeared over night
stacked one on top of another
standing like waiting monoliths
the bunkhouse filled to capacity
with strangers from other places
or from harsher, troubled lives
all ready to pick pears for money
the campaign began
men in khaki colored
clothes and caps
descended upon the orchard
the trees with bounty ready
withstood the onslaught
of silver seige ladders
and flurry of greedy hands
desertions would occur
after the first payday
and money’d been earned
for wine and whisky
throughout the entire county
there was an industrious striving
to bring in the precious harvest
and earn enough for another year