Bob Barker

News this week of Bob Barker's passing at the age of 99. The Big Wheel has spun and almost landed on $1.00. He has now made it to the great showcase in the sky. In his honour, I link to my poem Consolation. It's one of my bittersweet favourites. I grew up watching The Price Is Right. I had Bob Barker in mind when I wrote the poem. And the Johnny referred to in the poem is of course, the inimitable Johnny Olson.   

Watch The Children

 CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG

Watch the children

Play their games,

Watch the adults

Do the same.

Watch the players

Rise and fall,

Watch the broadcast

Of it all.

Watch the followers

Play their roles,

Watch the leaders 

Dig the holes.

Watch them talking

Watch them spin,

As they push 

The bodies in.

Watch the crowds

Cheer them on,

Watch the show

Before it’s gone.

Watch the children

Play their games,

Watch the adults

Do the same.

Neckties

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ

I used to yearn 

for the days

of hats and neckties,

but especially neckties.

Toppers are a bit too obvious, 

cowboy and baseball,

beanie, boater and beret,

clichéd identifiers

of a job, a team,

a dream.

A necktie is oblique

and suggestive,

beveled, flaccidly

pointing down to

below the waist.

For the banker, 

the hedge fund manager,

the salesman,

it's shiny sleek 

and reptilian

always be closing,

and by the end of the day

hangs under the chin 

long and languid 

like a dog-tired tongue

thirsty for a stiff drink

straight.

I once heard a history buff 

say neckties were a symbol

of slavery,

Colonial,

think of a choke chain,

or a lynching noose.

But I don't see it.

I think of my dad 

teaching me how to make

a Windsor knot,

over, under and around,

over, under and around,

the feel of his soft silk cravat

tightening around my throat,

his thick hands

correcting my small ones

until I got it right.

The Singer Sang His Song

CLICK HERE TO HEAR THE SONG

They took him from his mother 

The singer sang his song

They took him from his land

The singer sang his song

They beat him with a stick

The singer sang his song

They made him beg for coins

The singer sang his song

The singer sang his song

He sang it all day long

Until the sun was gone

With others and alone 

They made him pick the fruit

The singer sang his song

They sent him to the mines

The singer sang his song

They made him work machines

The singer sang his song

They gave him scraps to eat

The singer sang his song

The singer sang his song

He sang it all day long

Until the sun was gone

With others and alone 

They put him in the street

The singer sang his song

They told him he was hired

The singer sang his song

They gave him guns to fire

The singer sang his song

They told him when to fire

The singer sang his song

The singer sang his song

He sang it all day long

Until the sun was gone

With others and alone.

Summer Camp

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ

We were feral 

We were young

We slept in bags

We had some fun

I pissed the bed

and cried for home

that first summer,

didn't write one letter.

Next summer

I kissed a 'kitchen girl'

and smoked my first cigarette

with tent mates in a tunnel

we dug in the woods.

On a canoe trip

our unstable counsellor

paisley red bandanna'd

paddling stern

kicked me hard in the spine

with his unlaced steel-toed 

Kodiak boot,

called me a 'fucking kike'

for laughing at something

he didn't like,

the gunnels shook

I didn't understand

what he said,

but I shut up.

My last summer

I carried a pocket-knife,

and a wooden matchstick hung

from my lower lip

ready to set whatever

on fire

I can still taste the sulfur.

Watch the Children

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ

Watch the children

Play their games,

Watch the adults

Do the same.

Watch the players

Rise and fall,

Watch the broadcast

Of it all.

Watch the followers

Play their roles,

Watch the leaders 

Dig the holes.

Watch them talking

Watch them spin,

As they push 

The bodies in.

Watch the crowds

Cheer them on,

Watch the show

Before it’s gone.

Watch the children

Play their games,

Watch the adults

Do the same.

Prognosis

CLICK HERE TO HEAR AUTHOR READ

If only there was 

an MRI for love

an X-ray for trust

a CT scan for fear

to diagnose 

my loneliness

I could show you

where it hurts

send you the results

and anxiously await

the prognosis.