The Finger Speaks

for William Michaelian

I don’t ask the question,
Are you happy?
It seems too intrusive,
Too personal for most of my friends.
It’s a question reserved for my lover,
Used sparingly.

But of course I can tell,
Even in the e-mails of distant friends.
Joy infuses their words,
Oozes out from even the briefest missives,
Such as this morning’s message from my old friend,
An entranced grandfather,
Too encumbered to reply with more than a short explanation,
No doubt typed with a single finger:
“Baby on lap!”


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Wrought


Seeing as how this magazine
Was clearly created
For those of superior intelligence,
I figured I should be in on the game.

The pages were heavy and deep,
Filled with myriad analyzations of multifaceted topics
I scarcely knew existed.

What uses to a participatory democracy
Do these cerebrations employ
When we are governed by duplicitous morons
Who will never read these pages
Or consult the experts whose insights lie within?

I continued reading until stopped cold by the phrase:
“The predicament is multipronged. . . .”
Multipronged?
Really?

Clearly, this discourse had pierced the exosphere
On its way back home to some alternative universe.

Several pages ahead an advertisement
For a “Darwin Panama.”

    A warm weather hat with Australian styling,
    Handwoven in Ecuador from toquilla fiber.

O what “On The Origin of Species” hath wrought.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Unamused


I was immortal,
Aflame with youth,
Mad with wishing and wanting,
With joy and despair,
Running everywhere,
Lighter than air.

I shared secrets with my dog,
Whispered words of love to my cat,
Sang to sparrows and cackled at crows.

I picked my nose,
Hid my broccoli beneath the mashed potatoes,
Turned my bicycle into a horse and shot desperados.

I believed in dreams,
That they would lead my aching heart
To some kind of earthly heaven,
A life filled with joy
And love.

Yes,
I still sometimes belch,
Sometimes fart,
This inextinguishable little boy.

My wife is not amused.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

The Clearing


Yes,
I know,
These words are not enough
To describe the longings of the heart,
To diminish the entanglements of our lives
That too often strangle our finer emotions.

These words are not enough.

We need to find our way
To a clearing in the forest,
To walk into the light with arms outstretched,
To remember.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Civilization


The feast of a new day
Is laid out before me,
Yet all I can think about
Is my insatiable hunger
For more.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved