Jack Benny and You, Peppers-- You! Mein Twofer.

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Jack Benny Remembers Tides; I Remember You

There is a tide in the affairs of men, women, and children.

A flood too, Rolling like wildfire across the plains.
Across Nebraska. Yes, across, it is.
And a comma after women.

Flash, BAM! Alakazam,
indeed. Through the states
the systems roar, sez Al Roker
& others of ilk.

Across the wide Missouri. Yes, the.
No one unleashes the soaring, heroic power and
poetic potential of the violin more profoundly than Brahms.

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Astronomy, the Sweetest Pepper

Asteroids are of no danger to the pure of heart.

They fall, benign as snowflakes into rivers, lakes and swimming holes.
Great, deep, unendingly brutish holes near and far, and high above
the frayed nerves of speech therapists in love.
Everywhere, devil-may-care love, love.

Love. It's all good. More pathetic than Shelley,
more minuscule than a mite, right?

Luck, be degrading tonight: more powerful than sparklers,  metaphysical
locoweed, or the truly needy. More trivial than, say, Halston, or unbranded
cattle. Hush, listen: they're lowing as we speak.

  ***   **  *   ***  **  *  ***   **  *   ***  **  *

Hush, Lowing in Progress. Hush, knowing no shame or fear. Gentle.
Oblivious. More boric than acid-washed jeans.

More brazen than Finger Lakes. Buoyant as a child's lost balloon,
the Adirondack Mountains are still growing, yeah,
maybe a foot taller every 100 years.

Faster than the Himalayas in Asia. Stronger than Al Hirt.
Trippier than a kaleidoscope in a strobe-lit cellar. Yes.

More hip, even, than Tony Strupchevsky, buried in my purple yearbook,
buried in my purple yearbook, lo these many, many years.

--mge