The Party Line

Waiting for the light to change
from red to green, my eye was caught
by a covey of pigeons perching
on the telephone line overhead.

Thirty-five birds snuggled together
in a line watching all of us trapped
in our vehicles by the vagaries of traffic.

What murmured secrets do they share?
Or perhaps, they’re just
preparing to take aim?

Suddenly, I remember childhood telephone
calls when neighbor-women chattered
endlessly on party lines telling tales,
skewering those not present.

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A Million Dollar Tale

I was recently asked what I would
do with a million dollars tax-free.
Well, it would have to be tax-free
wouldn’t it, or the IRS would abscond
with, oops, I mean, collect
at least fifty percent.

But, what would I do?
Pay it off and pay it down,
buy it outright, make it work,
build upon it.
Grab a piece
of the American Dream,
my house in the country,
a patchwork of sod, something
to call my own, to hold and keep,
to nurture and be nurtured by,
a haven.

Although,
I guess it would depend
on who presented
the check. If it
was Ed McMahon knocking
on my door, I might pause,
briefly.

After all, a deceased person
with a check would be
somewhat strange.
Then again, perhaps
more fool I, I’d reach out
(with surely trembling hands)
and grab that check, tear it from his
cold, dead hands
then take off like a proverbial
bat-out-of-hell.

Do you think the bank
would still deposit
a corpse’s check
with a torn corner?
Ah, but what a tale
to spin for the next
family reunion.

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