THE FOOTBALL JONES

I love to watch the football games.
Without this drug,
life ain't the same.
I like the hits,
the violence too.
I get right with the hulabaloo.
The playoffs really get me off.
The hits are harder.
It's really great stuff.
Then there comes the Superbowl.
The food is good.
The booze does flow.
After this there's nothing left.
I feel abandoned.
Alone.
Bereft.
I know there will be brighter days.
but May and June is far away.
I guess I'll have to be satisfied,
with lesser games to keep me alive.
Basketball, Hockey, Weightlifting and Track.
They are there to watch,
but somehow lack,
the mystical feeling of the football game.
Without this sport, I ain't the same.
The baseball games put me to sleep.
I need my fix.
How many weeks?
Then comes August and pre-season joy.
Then once again I am a boy.
On fields of mud, and sweat and blood.
I guess I am a football slug.
I don't care if Casey is up at bat.
I like the game of field attack.
The cold winds blow,
the wild men charge.
The battle cries,
are grand and large.
I feel the surge.
I feel the flow.
The game is on.
I won't let go.

ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION

I wanna' be just like that guy in the Viagra commercial.
You know the guy.
Tall, good-looking, in shape.
He has the muscle car.
He has the cool jeans, and cowboy boots.
Suzy-Q is on the radio.
He's one tough, old cowboy!
His car is overheatin'.
He stops at the gas station,
and gets some water for him and his ride.
He doesn't even fear the gall-danged hot radiator water!
It wouldn't dare splash him,
even if he can't get a hard-on!
He leaves, and Homer at the gas station,
waves him goodbye.
The gas station attendant knows this old boy is cool!
As the sun sets, you see him pull up to a
million dollar home!
Yeah, that's right!
This dude not only looks like a buff construction worker,
but he has money too!
He just can't get it up, without the little blue pill.
One light is left on in his house.
It's his hot Barbie Doll wife waiting for him.
She has on his favorite nightie!
It's gonna' be a long, hard night.
Yeah, sure.

PSYCHOTIC BREAK

You're working at what you think is optimal functionality.
You are at the top of your intellectual game.
Students and professors look up to you.
You are linking facts together.
Weaving and extrapolating into unknown ideational territories.
The connections lead to new, other connections.
You study sixteen, sometimes eighteen-hours a day.
You eat to stay alive.
You smoke cigarettes and drink coffee to stay on the edge.
Finally you isolate yourself from people, social events, and God.
The psychotic break comes ever so slowly.
You don't realize you are losing your rational mind.
Finally...pop!
You can't reason your way out of it, no matter how hard you try.
Your old mind is gone.
It never comes back.
Your synapses have been burnt too badly.
You realize that you will never cerebrate at a genius level, ever again.
You accept this sad fact...after years,
Finally.
This is the worst feeling.
You admit defeat.
You settle for less.
You realize you are normal.
Yes, you accept "normal".
But you always wonder,
"What if?"

LUNCH WITH CATHERINE

I took my daughter to Shannon's Irish Pub.
It was nice to treat her to lunch.
I used to hunker down on the bar in there.
Spent many a late night with the other drunks.
Catherine and I both ate salads.
Coffee is my drink of choice today.
I looked into her sparkling blue eyes.
She said, "Dad, you seem distant today...
like something is bothering you."
I told her I was fine.
Then I told her that I am always in pain.
It's the normal pain of arthritis and legs gone bad.
I then told her, it was just a fact of life.
Not to fear.
I am happy.
She walked too fast for me.
I wanted to linger over lunch a little longer.
But she had to get back to the city.
I took her to my friends shop.
Just for a few minutes.
He read her some strange poetry.
We had a few laughs.
I wanted her to see that there were others like me.
I am glad I am in my comfy shoes now.
I am grateful for such a beautiful child.
She has the aura and beauty of youth.
I thrive on her freshness.
There is a time and a place for everything.
I loved lunch with my Catherine.

MINERS

They worked us hard, in unsafe conditions.
We were afraid of the falling rock.
The limestone and coal dust.
Diesel engines spewed black exhaust.
They told us there were scrubbers on the engines.
This would protect our lungs.
I coughed up black mucous for years.
I showed a jar of it to my union steward.
He looked at me as if I were insane.
Finally he said, "Take it to the safety man".
The safety man didn't do shit.
He was probably paid off by the company.
OSHA didn't do anything either.
I was labeled a trouble maker.
I thought I was a good union man.
I did my job.
I just knew there were many things wrong.
Guys were getting injured.
Some lost their lives.
Everyone was afraid of losing their jobs.
These Oil, Coal, and rock mining conglomerates
never cared about the working man.
They despise the unions.
They got away with whatever they could get away with.
They hired scabs if we went on strike.
We were hauled off to jail, for defending our jobs.
They killed us with guns and hired thugs.
Yes, this still happens today.
Yeah, it's happening right now!
I see children hungry.
They're crying for something to eat.
My union brothers and sisters are suffering.
We have to draw the line somewhere.
Decide which side you are on.
I'm broken now.
My lungs don't work.
My legs don't work.
I have painful arthritis from the dampness.
I worked underground, and outside in freezing cold.
And I'm afraid of what the future holds for me.
I hope my union pension and health and welfare,
doesn't go bankrupt.
These guys in the news media with their multi-million dollar jobs,
are blaming the unions and American workers for all kinds of problems.
They are calling us lazy.
These goons in the news media are the mouthpieces of corporate America.
They ought to be ashamed of themselves.
The owners and stockholders of huge companies are making obscene amounts of money.
Workers of America have no jobs, and can't make ends meet anymore.
Yet, they are raising our taxes for our own good.
The wealthy are the beneficiaries of all kinds of tax loopholes.
I'm not smart enough or rich enough to retain legal experts,
to see how I can screw my government out of tax dollars.
I guess I'll just have to pay up.
They say I'm milking the system for all it's worth.
They call guys like me, bums, malcontents, and rabble rousers.
Now, I ask you:
Who's the real culprit in America today?
It sure ain't the American worker, by God!

SOLDIER

He wasn't a star athlete.
Didn't distinguish himself in any way.
He was middle of the road.
Graduated from college.
Enlisted.
He was 7th Cavalry.
He traded his foot powder.
Got a bottle of scotch.
He smelled death as he disembarked.
The sweet smells of marijuana.
The humid jungle.
His feet suffered jungle rot.
The foot powder went to a short timer.
He knew he got the bad end of the bargain.
He survived the Ia Drang Valley.
Viet Nam.
1800 of his fellow soldiers died.
It was a bloody welcome.
He left his youth on the battlefield.
He became a soldier that day.
Now he is old.
He can't forget.
He lives with guilt.
For surviving so long.
He was a soldier.

LOVE IS

love is helping someone cry.
love is sitting in someone's lap.
love is taking out the garbage.
love is tasting a coffee for your mate,
to make sure it is not too hot.
love is listening.
love is always being available.
love is acceptance.
love is smiling at your lover,
even when they are sitting on the toilet.
love is giving away your last cookie.
love is now.
love is everywhere.
love is found if you look for it.
love is the way.
love is everything.
love is for everyone.
love has happy prisoners.
jail me with love.
throw away the key.