TWO POINTS SHORT: A Poem for Wilmer

You do not need to know who I am to hear my voice.

I am obscured from you by an absolute choice.

You may want to start spending your efforts and your time

But if you do the meaning will be lost in the rhyme

Getting old and realizing your name becomes the focus of the day

You haven’t lost it; it is just located further back than you can say,

Having your bloated body plucked, sucked, poked, and rolled in a loop

Life has become centered on the waking moments giving way to pee and poop

You wonder and wander back to a remembered time when you were the king of the ball

You remember it well, that foggy hog stealing your memory; all

Changing the order of things blocking thoughts, ideas, and dreams

You are strapped to the mattress, but they don’t have your mind, but neither do you.

It can’t be night again, what happened to the events of the day, your debut

Was it yesterday or the day before when you arrived here in this cave, a tunnel of being?

Peace and hopelessness resigned, calming your mind leaving your ears to ring.

You have given of your time and moved along as they have prescribed,

Where’s the light at the end of this event. You’ve certainly tried.

Ahh, here is the help, here is the light, it shines on somewhere; it is waiting for you.

You see the light shining in prisms, you and the others in the room, here’s your crew

You move towards the line that is forming, as you are whisked along to the front

You are the center of attention. Are you the only one?

You hear the voices discussing all that you have done.

Your deeds, contributions, indications, hesitations, retributions and tribulations

Your strivings generate peace through instruction, love through modeling, contributions

Your prerequisite for truth and honesty shine through the assemblage piled high

Your cooperation in matters concerning the masses is legendary, essential, will never die

Your quest for trustworthiness and loyalty among all is illuminated time and time again

Your visions and hope for humanity won prizes, awards and claims a distinction; Bien.

Your responsibility towards justice and mercy for all mankind gave you benevolence

Your charity and kindness have been rewarded by never keeping us in suspense,

But through the loving, guiding, teaching, training, giving, hoping, and caring,

Doing and saying the right thing came as naturally as the load you were bearing

You find out you are two points short for eternity’s entrance fee.

Pearly Gates sure looked good all along the way, the ones now you can actually see.

No entrance fee dear soul not for you or me, go back, do it again for an eternity.

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“Hail Mary, full of grace; the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb . . .

Restroom conversation

“She told you to dumb it down. Why for heavens sake?”
“ The public does not like things complicated and complex. They like you to lay it out there in third to sixth grade language.”
“Then, that shouldn’t be too hard.”
“It is hard. You have to think about it in a complex, complicated way and then, present it as a teacher to your students.”
“Like I said, not hard for you, you are a teacher. Dumb it down is your bag, lady.”
“Maybe, but, who wants to spend the rest of their life in the third grade?”
“You’ve got a point.”
“So where do I go from here?”
“ I guess you start with the most complicated things you can think of and then, begin to dumb them down.”
“Okay, thanks, but then again, no thanks.”
Both conversationalists left the rest room and I am left pondering their tiny bits of information. I am tired of people, books and writing classes telling me what to do, how to do it. They say you have to have a beginning, middle, end, and you have to write it for the market. Damn, the market changes every time you get the book lists, so I enrolled in a writing class at Beverly Hills High School Adult School. I lovingly wrote my heart out onto the pages and a manuscript began to grow. It was truly ecstasy. I acted, felt deeply and wrote about it. The directions were to complete only a few chapters for evaluation. The evening came where we all laid our manuscripts on the desk of our writing guru. There was an air of tension in the room. The air began to feel used and stale. The participants began to squirm in their seats, rubbing their hands, wiping their faces and noses too often. The teacher thanked us all for the work and said that next Monday was a holiday and he would see us back in two weeks. I was thinking to myself, two weeks is a damn long time. I can’t stand one day, how will I get through the two weeks? Is my writing good? Will I publish, perhaps become well known?
I am not going to say that the two weeks flew by like normal two weeks always seem to do, but these were filled with hope, desire to be the greatest, anticipation of the news of my writing skills, fear of rejection and I will stop the flow right here because of fear of not being dumbed down enough. The days came and went in some sort of a fog of eagerness.
This is the night we all find out about our brilliance or lack thereof. The teacher slowly and deliberately handed out the manuscripts, looking into each ready face, giving a quarter smile. Mine he saved for last. He looked into my eyes, laid the manuscript down with a full toothy smile. My heart began to beat wildly and my breath came in gulps. He moved on towards his des. My hand found the paper pile, I slowly sole a glance. Large, unusually large black print popped into my brain. My eyes blurred from the excitement and I could hardly see. Finally, I settled back and was able to read the oddly large script. It said, AN UNPLOTTED PSYCHOLOGICAL QUIRK, VERY THERAPEUDIC WITH NO SALABILITY. It has taken me over thirty years to fully understand his meaning. I do not think in all of these years I have perfected the theory of dumb it down enough to get out of that category. I don’t even understand it myself, but I do know that if you dumb it down far enough, people will understand and perhaps you will understand it yourself.

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To: The Huntington Park City Council
Ofelia Hernandez, Mayor

From: SheilaClapkin, President, Jos. Levin Realty Corp. of L.A.

Re: Amending The Zoning Designation from Industrial/Manufacturing to General
Commercial

Huntington Park is my Hometown. I was born, raised and educated here. My family has been in business in Huntington Park for sixty-nine years in pretty much the same spot. We built new buildings on the corner of Soto and Slauson fifteen years ago to the specifications set by the city of Huntington Park. Our buildings made a significant improvement to that corner in appearance as well as the use of this prominent corner.
We have been able to successfully rent all of our units during these years. Now you want to make changes that will impact and perhaps destroy our present Industrial/Manufacturing complex. You will hinder our abilities to rent and do business in Huntington Park. We do not want you to do this rezoning to General Commercial.
Have you looked at Pacific Boulevard in order to revitalize and enhance its commercial capabilities? In the northern sections, there are blocks on that street that if revitalized would add to the drama that has always been part of the Boulevard. It is already a built in commercial district. Why do you want to go after us, the little guys that have served this community for going on three fourths of a century? Why just these few blocks, I ask you and not Pacific Boulevard which is already commercial? Why not a revitalization,, rather than a destruction and obliteration of what is already working well and serving our community in its Industrial/Manufacturing needs?
Sincerely Yours,

Sheila Clapkin
President, Jos. Levin Realty Corp. of L.A.

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Dear Colby: This is your story.
I DON’T FIT UNDER THE BED ANYMORE
Once upon a time there was a little boy who used to love to crawl under his mom and dad’s bed. He loved seeing the things that were deposited there by the dog or the cat. He used to think it was a dark cave where he could see all kinds of strange animals and fierce people with long hair and some beards.

He used to think that under the bed there lived a world that no one else ever saw or even knew about. He saw castles, kings, queens and his favorite friend was a prince named Joel. Every day he and Joel would meet under the bed and have a long journey. The mom could not understand why the little boy was always so tired everyday. How could he explain his daily journey into a world no one ever knew or would believe? So he didn’t say anything for many years.

As the years passed by, the boy grew bigger and bigger. Every day he squished under the bed and enjoyed his journey. One day a big surprised happened to this boy. He barely made it under the bed for his journey into the unknown. He just thought how strange. He checked the bed and found that it was pretty much the same as it always had been, but what he didn’t realize is that he was growing up and getting bigger.

It happened! One day the boy could no longer fit under the bed. He pushed and squeezed himself. Nothing he did worked and he could not get under the bed. He found his mom and blurted out to her, “Mom. I don’t fit under the bed anymore.” He took his mom to show her and began to tell her the tales of his under-the-bed adventures. He told her everything. She smiled and said she understood how sad he must feel that he had grown too big to get under the bed, but that it was the growing up process and that means when you grow up, you have to leave some of your old adventures behind to make room for new ones. The boy understood and believed his mother, but every time he goes by the bed of his mom and dad, he smiles and remembers all the times he crawled under the bed and enjoyed the adventures that waited there for him.

Love, Grandma

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I received an email that I am pasting here for you. Before you read it let me tell you my experience with it. I received it, like I said, I read and re-read it. I sent it on. Hey, how about making it I said to myself. Okay, so I printed the recipe and went down to make it. I had all the ingredients except my flour was self- rising and the recipe said, no self-rising flour. So what. I don’t follow anything in total. Most often, Usually, Probably.

I did exactly what was prescribed in the recipe and it turned out majestic. Really. The cake puffed up way over the rim of the cup. It stayed there like a mountain. I dusted it with powdered sugar, I was thrilled with the experience and wanted to pass along to you the possibility of joy in accomplishment and the fun of following through. Here you go: Let me know how you do with this project. Do it now. Why wait. It is really awesome.

Most Dangerous Chocolate Cake Recipe in the World

MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE
1 Coffee Mug
4 tablespoons flour(that’s plain flour, not self-rising)
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons baking cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
Small splash of vanilla

Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well . Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.
Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla, and mix again.
Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts. The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don’t be alarmed!
Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.
EAT! (this can serve 2 if you want to share!)

And why is this the most dangerous cake recipe in the world? Because now we are all only 5 minutes away from chocolate cake at any time of the day or night!

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