Making note

A cheap flash drive
containing one document;
PDF file of a note – my
message of hopeful wonder,
Robinson Crusoe-like whim

I seal the technological
romanticism tightly in a
Mason Jar, throw it into the
ocean at night as the tide
predictably recedes

Sitting on the beach I
ponder as only a man with
youthful hindsight, waning
sense of adventure, should

where, how far, how long
my modern take on
ancient currents will carry

I confidently wonder if its
eventual discovery
will prompt the curiosity of
its finder to seek out its
by-then-obsolete technologytext_message
decipher it with anticipation

or if, by then, will time have
erased the need or desire
for wonder and excitement
I question all this as the jar
slowly bobs its way out
into the darkness
that is the unknown

Mark Lucker

Not a deep sleep

I used to have a dream where
I had won first prize in a
church raffle: lunch with God

where, over, thin-crust pizza,
I could ask him three questions.
I always lead with an inquiry
about why he made humans

“The hyenas” sayeth God,
as the waitress pours more wine,
“said I didn’t a sense of humor.”
“Guess you showed them, huh?”
replyeth I, with a nod

In my dream, God then laughs
uproariously – looking, for just a
moment like my late uncle Paul
(without salad stuck in his teeth)

This is where the dream always
ends, leaving me to ponder; was
it just a lame dollar-a-ticket raffle,
or am I not much of a dreamer?

Troikas, I

Dislike your albatross
necklace? Accessorize
with matching brooch

* * *

“Gone to the dogs!”
denigrates dogs
let’s cats off the hook

* * *

I am the black sheep
of an oddly monochrome
familial flock

Troikas, II

A story called the girl’s hair
‘flaxen’ and all I could
think of was my dietary fiber

* * *

Naked mimes
don’t really have to say
all that much

* * *

Right place, wrong time.
Wrong place, right time.
Fine lines, leaky pens

Troikas, III

Two steps forward, three back:
even with castanets you flunk the
nice officers roadside dance test

* * *

If you date a girl
half your age, she will
expect twice as much

* * *

If the call for nonconformists to
unite goes unheeded, keep
the deposit they made on the hall

Troikas, IV

Burning, bitter, soulfully sweet;
my first taste of whiskey
my first sip of you

* * *

My father; blue-collar guy who
aspired to more, never quite made it.
Don Quixote with bowling ball lance

* * *

Overdrawn again from the
bank of good fortune.
Let all those checks bounce.