Punch can, its pointed head is ready
To press down hard and pierce its way
Through metal sealing in sweet juice
To open condensed milk to air
Punch can, small and light, invented
In 1863 I think
A church key working just as well
As when the tool was first unveiled
It’s slight, full twenty to a pound
Just right to hide in any drawer
Here it lies behind the corkscrew
Another opening device
Punch can, will you ever be replaced?
Or are you something like the wheel?
For sale today for just three dimes
Be first this product to review
It will be a few years before you can read this, and then maybe a few more years before it means a lot to you, I know, but I feel compelled to write to you today, on my 66th birthday. Let’s see. In 22 days, you will reach the ripe old age of six months. Can I say right up front that it’s amazing and wonderful having you in our lives? Already, the people around you (including Safta Laurie) can see a lot about the kind of person you’re going to grow up into. I can see that you’re curious, strong, good-natured, interested in how things work, and love to move, dance and jiggle. You have two loving and excellent parents, one of which happens to be my daughter. You have a sweet doggie brother, Sanka, who loves you and protects you, as well as a sweet doggie aunt/cousin (?), Whiskey, who also wants to make sure you’re okay at all times.
As your Grandpa Bruce – Saba Bruce if you prefer – I feel there’s so much I’d like to help teach you, not only about playing the piano and loving classical music (your mom will take care of teaching you to love country music), not only about baseball – the playing and watching thereof, the Brooklyn Dodgers, Duke Snider, and Sandy Koufax – but about appreciating all of the good things in life, hiking in the mountains, reading, writing, learning, and loving, the things that I have been blessed with. As to the loving, there’s no greater joy in life than being a parent, in my opinion, and so, somewhere in your future, I hope you are similarly blessed.
See you soon, Cole.
Lest anyone doubt that our country is subject to political assassination, I publish a poem I wrote years ago: Crumpled between the large copper kettles Resting upon the smooth gleaming steel surfac…
Source: In Memory of R.F.K.
Lest anyone doubt that our country is subject to political assassination, I publish a poem I wrote years ago:
Crumpled between the large copper kettles
Resting upon the smooth gleaming steel surface
Where everything should be white and clean
A man becomes the spring of an unwanted red stream
Writing the death warrant of a despondent grieving nation
I usually don’t get too political on my blog, but there are times when caution is the wrong approach, times like this year, as the life of our democracy is at stake. So, for everyone who says…
Source: Practice Makes Perfect!
I usually don’t get too political on my blog, but there are times when caution is the wrong approach, times like this year, as the life of our democracy is at stake. So, for everyone who says they can’t vote for Hilary, and instead they will either stay home on election day, or vote for Jill Stein, or vote for Gary Johnson, or write in Bernie Sanders’s name, I have some words of advice:
You need to practice saying: “President Trump! President Trump! PRESIDENT TRUMP!”
Come on, practice. Don’t be afraid. You can do it!
As in: “President Trump suspends the writ of habeas corpus to allow arrest and deportation of anyone suspected of being a Muslim or being here without proper documents.”
As in: “President Trump greets Ku Klux Klan leader at the White House!”
As in: “President Trump praises Putin while Russia invades the Baltic countries.”
I predict these are the headlines from only the first week he’s in office. So, keep practicing until the words “President Trump” slip easily off your tongue.