The pragmatist, ambivalent

Although I suffer fromprag1 (2)
a strong faith
it allows me the privilege to
not fear death
or its obligatory attachments

no desire exists within me
to see just exactly
what lurks in
other-side-a-topia

I don’t ruminate on
who I know that
will be
won’t be there

they are dead
they are gone
they may/may not be
hanging out someplace
metaphysical or spiritual

bus stop
malt shop
corner bar
beyond

I don’t think of departed
souls as how they were
when they left
I imagine them as they
would be, now

Twenty turning sixty?
Skipped the middle-man
life
accumulated nothingprag3
physical, otherwise
pro-and-con scenarios

My father would be 102
a more jovial version than
the 67-year-old dude
who left,
mid-cancer

Grandparents
I never met
girlfriends
I never dated
childhood friends
high school classmates
friends, enemies, cliques

a bunch of people

I can’t possibly
have remembered to
have forgotten

the older I get
the older they get
the older I get
the longer the list of

people I hope to meet
people I will need to avoid
those who might want to
catch up, admonish,
welcome me
aboard
to the clubprag4

might just want to
mingle there
in

heaven
hell
purgatory
Des Moines’
Greyhound bus depot,
circa 1975

No hurry on my end to
find out if I am
right
wrong
misled or if
I just followed poorly

When I get wherever, if my
name is not on the
bouncer’s clipboard

no biggie

I’ll go find myself
in bold, underlined, on
someone else’s
list

– Mark L. Lucker
© 2019
http://lrd.to/sxh9jntSbd

most monochromatically not

I’ve never seen the world
in quaint, stark black and white
even as a child, vivid shades
of gray were crystal clear

I have always seen life for what
it really is; unnamed, unruly tints
and hues both opaque and austere

seeing life as purely black-and-white
takes a special color blindness that
I did not inherit via nature or nurture

in the life-box of sixty-four Crayolas
the cylinder labeled ‘Ambiguous’ is
neither a shade of black nor hue of white
and gray is simply the most realistic arc
on color spectrum, the crayon always
in pieces in the box, broken from overuse,
flattened on one side from all the shading