The App

I vowed to upload an App
knowing that that risk
might my feeble network be denounced
Would friends reflect how affable am I?
A gullible glut?
not in My House would such a program roll
Instagramming, friending even those I know not

The damnation to belong to this virtual screen made
my fingers shake and stick in sweatiness
"There is always immolation" said the back of my mind

Nevertheless, I reached for that App application
my bones distorting in grotesque lines
(The App may have been so old or so new)
but it smelt of a cave and at the moment my finger and it started shaking

I gesticulated to a friend on Skype
I felt bewildered yet knew this was no game I was getting into
for this App would deal a certain blow
that would hearken even my boldest aspirations
sending them to the dark

Then I received a poke and a "wtf"
My concentration ceased,

the wind blew threw the windows, across my room
The concrete wall ornamented with the unique plug seemed to shake as well

"Wtf, WTF!" I cried, my voice becoming shrill as my finger plunged
down hard on the App
and yet,
it asked me to reload

And again and again into the small hours of the day
I felt spasms as if I were edging towards that plug to
Pull and abandon the whole process

The heat in the room was overwhelming
Suddenly I ripped open my cotton shirt
The buttons fell on the floor
spinning like the wheels in a game of roulette

I was far from the desert
Yet dammed as only my mind was seemingly forbidden
From reaching into the vast synthetic canyons
With the possibility of spraying bullets from a raft down the rapids
Or walking or swimming along the mountainous edge

Before all my energy hath be ridden just one last insidious plea:
if thou deny me this App
let the cattle off my ship
let the chips slide off my table
Rid me of cruel electricity
that frogs my soul.

An American Dream

Equipped with GPS the Muffin Squad went searching the Atlantic
A box of English muffins was missing and
Not any box

Amongst the six fresh muffins was
one
half
that had been toasted

They sailed with crew over choppy waves
The advanced version XS Y VII BP
Began tracking a floating box
That reflected the same dimensions of
Six muffins by one or
3.7 inches by 11.1.

Operating in dark, gusty conditions the
ship followed a longitudinal axis
The Captain, wearing an Armani jacket,
was miffed by the nautical miles we clocked in
For what he considered an insignificant mission
When, Lo and behold

A floating package with the Thomas' label
appeared in the sight of the second mate
Immediately a diver dove into the icy waters
grabbing the package and lifting it to the surface.

Mike the Muffin Man -or the one who dreamed of rescuing the muffins
reached into the package expecting to find the half toasted one
toasted and hard unlike any other muffin
Suddenly his face made a grimace as his fingers
encountered the mush of egg salad
The mayonaise infiltrated his skin and reached under his finger nails

In a tiff he tore the plastic wrapping apart
His anger was steaming had he had a gun he would have
Fired a bullet straight through the muffins
(But no, he was a pacifist, having voted against the NRA)
He took a deep breath instead.

Back on the Miami coast
The Squad
Raced to a supermarket and bought bags of chips and
Dozens of eggs

At the checkout they requested to open the bags and have
Each chip and each egg placed in a plastic bag,
The bagger, an elderly fellow with missing teeth offered
A ceremonious smile -his picture, just at the entrance, nominated
Him for best bagger of the week.

A huge line built up behind the Muffin Squad
Shoppers, some silent, some chatting from their electric carts
Some rattling off intrepid lines valorous of elevator talk,
And some just enjoying the AC; after all you could take it in
Without adding a calorie.

The 3 shopping carts were filled.
The bagger got a dollar for carrying it all to the trunk of the
Scalding car. Off cruised the Muffineers, destination: the Olympics.
The mission was sensitive:
Get to the final competition of the women's synchronized swimming
and disrupt the event during the American's performance.

Why? Because the Americans are doing a Batman act and plan to
shoot each other using blanks. Only the Iranians surreptitiously
replaced the blanks with real bullets meaning that blood would spill
live on NBC.

Equipped once again with GPS the Muffin Squad which now became
The Muffin Squad XS III, set off at high speed with American Pie blasting
On the radio.
"Swimming Gold Medal Pool 4.6 miles on left" a metallic voice announced,
They were almost there when suddenly Mike, slammed on the brakes screaming
"Shit, I forgot the mayonnaise!!!"

It was too late: getting into the swimming hall would have been impossible
Without the proper egg salad. By the time the Muffineers got out of a 7/11 with the mayo
They passed a store diffusing images of a Batman and a Joker in swimsuits,
Sunken in a bath of blood on the floor of the pool,
The crowd was cheering and the judges help their placards high in the air
Displaying respectable scores given the level of difficulty.

A Childhood dream

"What are you gonna be when you grow up?"

asked my parents, my friends,

"I'm going to be part of a police lineup."

I replied, standing upright and fixing my look into the void
chin pointing like a torpedo.

Like many kids I loved cops and robbers, but what fascinated me

was the idea of standing in a line

and in that line

a criminal, real, in flesh and blood

held his blank gaze towards a two-way mirror
sharing his vibes amongst us motley lot.

There is something seductive about a gangster face

Out on a limb

exasperated

lips tied shut

and ready to devour

the first

victim

in

sight

I went to school where studies in literature always led me back to the scene of the crime

And then I started volunteering for police lineup work.

At first it gave me the chills

but after some convictions the feeling morphed into a state of excitement.

I was like being an emergency doctor:

no long trails with painstaking juries 

Here, I stood in the line and painted the meanest face I could as I looked into the mirror

often feeling solidarity -for behind that reflective shadow we could make out a moving,

 accuser, a man, a woman pacing back and forth and ready to raise his or her finger and say "that one!"

More and more rarely would I go home to visit my dear parents

Oddly I grew afraid they would look at me; judge me in a funny way.

One day when my little brother was standing on his toy zebra

I had a clear vision of the perfect police lineup

Where everyone was a criminal hence everyone was a suspect

So the aim was to pick out the most criminal of the criminals

and if you did

you

won.

My heart started beating because when I get a good idea I know I have to pounce on it

Like Pinocchio going after the grasshopper

I sprung into action

In America with over 3 million prisoners we need more lineups

We need to build them like airport strips allowing for 

easy suspect mobility and easy identification

Some say lineups are a pain in the ass because there are lots of crackpots out there

Making it all the harder for a hapless victim who, after all, while under duress, cannot probably remember if the assailant was wearing a back or a brown shoe.

Thank God we have institutions like MIT and a criminal justice system that

can fork over a little R&D to work out this equation

But seriously, why put out so much effort when the NRA has its own solution to rising crime?

Born Yesterday

Born Yesterday" by Shakespeare Philip Larkin and Langola
Dedicated to Daphne P.                 May 22, 2012

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
Tightly-folded bud,
I have wished you something
None of the others would:
Not the usual stuff
About being beautiful,
Or running off a spring
Of innocence and love -
They will all wish you that,
And should it prove possible,
Well, you’re a lucky girl.
Delicious dinners await thee and daily
Don't dare dream of dating dancers in detention during daylight.
Seek! cheese deliveries of dark, dense diaries that will extoll demons,  destroying your parents  determination for organic, wholesome Swissness.

If your name is Daphne
May you be unordinary;
Have, like other women,
And  talents that transcend Swiss and English borders:
Not ugly, not good-looking, not not,
Nothing uncustomary
To pull you off your balance while scooting down the hills of Morges,
Roll, as Young Swiss man eyes and mouths gaping
Stops all from working: heads turning, grabbed by you locks of curly blond hair; the blast of your wind past
In fact, some say you chime of a thin Farley’s Rusk; crunchy, yet resistible
If that is what an extemporaneous un-emphasized, enthralled,
Post Wifi Baby Daphne must be!

Me and My Drone

No two drones are alike

My drone

A high hurling autopilot deus ex machina

Has followed me and my family for years.

Sometimes I ask: "How many ways doth my drone love thee?"

One: When I painted my roof with tar, the drone checked from an altitude of 3,000 feet (using its  gamma ray sensors, biological sensors,  camera through the clouds) if the tar had indeed seeped into the cracks.

Two: to make sure that my balding spot is properly brushed when going to work.

Three: when visiting a new site my drone can tell me how many stairs I have to walk up or down.

Four: My drone can tell me how many police cars are in my neighborhood; knowing where they are stalking has made me more relaxed and my blood pressure has gone down.

Five: Since I love chipmunks I wish to know, before my dog gets my morning paper, how many chipmunks are in my garden.

My drone, rain or shine, can send me accurate information regarding not only chipmunks, but chipmunk predators. That's also why I arm my drone with Tomahawks SSH1A's (a family version missile that is meant to take out only domestic animals) because there are too many cats in my neighborhood.

My community doesn't with that we use the leaf-blower if there are more than 6 blowers on the block, I can do a quick check and see how many neighbors are blowing before taking out my gear.

And what about all those hours spent waiting to buy a ticket on Broadway? Since we have our drone we have cut those lines in half, using stealth technology brings on a windfall of smiles.

 From my remote control synthetic vision system I can

night or day,

seek, observe and react in real time to real situations

I can even follow my kids movements 

whether they be 10 or 10,000 miles from home!

My wife and I are so happy with our drone we

decided to buy another one.

The XXX-WMW by Lockeed

-Capable of flying 24 hours a day 

-Capable of being recharged by laser light

-Capable of flying up to 200 mph with a decibel count of under 50

The XXX-WMW has been approved by the San Francisco Police and

The Serbian Vanilla and Chocolate Swirly Tango dance company

(first reconnoitered by the XXX-WMWjr)

There are so many applications for a drone, it is time everyone should have their own 

With a global landscape that is more user friendly

The economy will sky rise.

Drones don't deliver delicious diners

But they can let us see our pizza on its way getting delivered.

The day Mom died

For years she suffered

And I prepared -or tried- for that fateful day.

I smeared on so much empathy

If mom were a toast

Even she would have gone soft.

I tried to reconnect sinews that had been torn

enmeshed neuralgic structures

tangled after years of family riffraff.

Trying to paste it all together was naive,

even in the name of the Family.

Trying to be "there" was idealistic,

when for so many years we were pushing apart.

It was a week when the rains heaved in

My worries of "nature drying" were dispelled when the

phone rang announcing mother lay dying

She had a week left at best, so I began to prepare my bags

and then

a point

in

my

chest

Burning pain, I knoweth not where from

A small but deep point, like a bite that drilled into my flesh

had me check into the emergency

I had to check

I a nurse, a health professional, and then be off! to my grave business.

Upon examination the doctor said,

"We have to operate tonight, no later, no later."

"But my mother is dying, I have to go"

"If we let you go, you will join your mother, but not on this living world"

My soul was jolted

had I trucked with evil spirits?

had I not gone to church enough?

had I not been honest? were some of the myriad of questions that jangled me.

That night the surgeon removed the foreign agent that had invaded my body

That night my mother died.

My friend accused a parallel psychosomatic disorder,

a stress inflection on the corpus callosum just above the temporal lobe that I had suffered from.

Regardless, heavy doses of antibiotics were prescribed

that ultimately buried my stomach in a WWI trench.

Still, with stoic resolve, I went to the funeral

Wanting to hold still, to listen still,

to the words and the music that my mother loved

Only if still

My intestines didn't rumble like a tank moving over the trenches where my stomach lie

awaiting to explode.

Only if the internal aftershock wasn't there

But it was.

Forced to leave under the watchful family eyes

I tried to change thought

Didn't my cat go for a walk

Didn't you spend three days,

Three nights looking and worrying about it just before my infection?

And that fly that got under my bed cover?

My mind was slipping. Was it the antibiotics or my infection coming back to get me?

The cold bathroom at the funeral home piped insipid organ music

I held on to a heating pipe in the stall

And wished I were

In my bath, thinking about mother.

My roof has an anti aircraft missile system

It may have taken years

that really felt like decades

True, I already had my state business licence

and a liability insurance for over a million pounds

-my former wife though I was a safe investment.

Yet as I lay lying in the darkness of my bedroom

The thought that at any day, any hour my building

and my neighborhood could be attacked

by plane, by rocket, by a suicide truck

left me unnerved; my sleep jilted like a discarded lover

It took endless meetings with the co-owners

yet we prevailed: today we have an anti aircraft missile device on the roof.

My little girl loves it! She is charmed by its whirling, turning spinning

She said it is like a jellyfish with eyeballs, a tortoise pivoting like a ballerina,

Its eyes fixed on the sky

regardless of the weather

regardless of events below on the street

matter little economic highs or lows

matter little which Prime Minister rules

Our sweet, faithful, reliable anti aircraft missile system is

 there 

In the dog of the night

Beware! If it be a fish and chips stand whose merchant pretends to be innocently selling at our corner or

an olympic athlete making a false start at the 100 meter dash to create a diversion in order to attack our building

WE WILL BE PREPARED!!!

Safety has no price, security no place, and fear no proximity.