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 . . . a little offputting 

                                           he found out he was nearly an undertakers son

it seemed his father exhibited a critical panache considerable skills for costumes and 

stage makeup in high school and  as it was then  families preferred to do business with

family members or extended family who filled the nascent jobs for living in the city 

which was a far cry from the work they did living on the farm

they became carpenters blacksmithys butchers grocerers tailors  and one an undertaker 

the familys undertaker was thoroughly and intently impressed with his father and 

made a grandiose offer to train him as a mortician

but Korean was raging

                                        and rather than becoming an undertaker and restoring corpses

he was drafted  and made them

his family is blue collared 

it wasnt that they didnt possess the intellect to become more

they could have strove to become bankers financiers involved businessmen lawyers or

politicians

and some may have earnestly considered it if the rest of the family hadnt threatened to

piss on them for going white collar

the best parts  the intregal part of their family  were thugs drunkards and womanizers

they had impressive mugs and physiques  they exuded maleness like exotic spice

and were extremely tantalizing

when they were younger 

 

but their beast ruttings  the beatings and alcohol took their toll

and the lies that once slipped from capable silver tongues

fell utterly insincere

they were too weary to work at them any longer

and who in their right mind stayed with a bad liar

so blue collared  it fit the bill  and they black and blue and bruised their ways through

shorter lives

 

when he returned home from Korea his father had his fill of the dead

the ratcheting he survived also diminished any sense of propriety he once possessed for the ceremony of the dead 

too many shallow ditches hacked out with E-tools  too many bodies tumbled into them

to snuff their putrefaction  and smell

and home again

he adored flowers

he couldnt get enough of them and raised them tenderly on their city lot  and a garden

sometimes hed see his father kneeling in the fresh-hoed earth  the warm loam  his eyes closed gratefully 

an expression on his uptilted sunlit face  Church-like piety without the Church

                           

his father had his fill of what God wrought

 

out it came   Very nearly an undertakers kid   earth still on his pantleg  sharing a cold

beer on a hot summer day  the ballgame playing on the radio behind them

their team  his fathers team  of course it would be their team

had come back four runs down in the bottom of the ninth with two out

 

they stole the game

how were the Cards going to swallow that

the cans of beer were good were beaded with sweat  glistened and played with the sunlight

his father was in a good mood

--   Did I ever tell you this . . .

--   Nah  I would have remembered that

--   What a kick huh

and he ran the can of a beer across his throat  on the back of his neck

Aahh cold   Almost better than drinkin it

1512,  Twosday,  11  11. 14

Sagan

Say it again (the phrase always ticked in his head when he thought of his name)

Sagan   Carl  Sagan

  

                     he reminded him this morning of the nauseous clusterfuck he was a part of

because being an American meant youre infected by the other American despite your 

virulent objections to their slim majority platform  continuing into this midterm Election

when more than half of Americans werent inclined to be counted  possibly not wanting

to be party to its dismal politics

and yet our dismal politics and its parallel universe are adored by one half of our two-party system

because their deliberate corruption   --   for Now   --   is working to their benefit

They see our elections as WINs and LOSTs   US vs THEM   and negate any longview and

are unaffected that their inspired civil war diminishes the country   divides it

because as long as their perceived piece of the pie is larger

                                                                                               They dont care

America is for their kind of Americans alone  their kind of Crusades

the jump from Sagan to politics isnt really large or odd when considering Sagans 

enormous intellect reasoning and presence were swept from the table when he died

like toasted bread crumbs off a gingham patterned tablecloth

and if such a strong reliable presence could be diminished by death

what is to be made of the rest of us

                                                              who may be nothing more than occupants

who  distinctly  will not provide either intellect or reasoning or presence  and yet see                   

these attributes  mistakenly  melded into some believed crucible of online presence

failing to recognise that their faint flickering Light  would not be 

if the tentative plug were slipped

without Machines Sagan will still be remembered 

 

could they really tout that of themselves

when electric marquees arent seen when their lights go out

                                                                     and their toasted bread crumbs

probably wont be swept up by Anyone

because Anyone is going to be too busy fending for themselves for housekeeping  and their
crumbs will go stale and blend with the dust and mite mosaic scattered

Everywhere

1505,  Moanday,  10  11. 14