Sometimes I like to take a peak at “Behind the Scenes”
Grab the remote and some popcorn and sit myself down
But usually I end up getting very disappointed…
And sit there for a while just staring with a frown.
I find out my favorite character is a thick-headed loser
The gal he falls in love with is really a brunette –
The director of this grand movie is just a lazy snoozer
Now I know there was something else, but I seem to forget…

He passes along the sidewalks, in the dark cover of night
Roaming about the sea and sand, keeping out of sight;
He passes along the board walk; the sea splashes its way,
Entering the blackening tide, beneath the serpents sway;
He passes along the empty fields, its dark and air full scent,
Along he walks his pace quickens, to the graveyard he went;
He passes by the gravestones, by each and every name,
Until he came to a certain one, he halted just the same;
He went to look closer, and saw what he not knows:

Note from Edith: Chapter II will be coming soon ... Unless I go blank o_O Hopefully that won't happen.

CHAPTER I
Perhaps War

Dearest Ofailia,
I feel as though it has been years since I last wrote you. I realize I should have replied to your last letter months ago but I find that between the crash of the toothpaste factory where I worked when you sent me that last letter, and starting up my new stationary business I have been rather busy, so please forgive the long delay, believe me, I would have written you sooner if I could have found the time.

There is one thing I have learned throughout my life, and that is, do not leave a cup full of any liquid out in the open for more than five seconds when a bunch of friends are around you. You see, there could be trouble, and that there was. This, my friend, is coming from personal experience. Take my advice.

Well hi! It’s me, your awesome and good ol’ pal
Wait… you don’t even know me… well introduce myself, I shall!
My name is Whatsit, and I dunno what to write,
But I am good at playing marbles, and flying a kite.

If ye ever need help now an’ then, writin’ a poem
Just gimme a call at 180-LOST – that’s my number at home.
Most of the time I’m there, but half the time I’m not,
Usually I’m trying to untie my own poetry knot.

7:00 p.m. and it’s crowded at the cheap
gas station where drivers idle
away the minutes, the next
in line for fuel at $2.63 per gallon.

Tonight distraction lurks at
the pump—Short Mini Skirt Girl
with curly blonde hair
and a tight layered top.

The audience ogles, guys
covertly, women overtly, all eyes
on the frayed hem of her
hip-hugging denim skirt.

No more of a peep-show than
that—hum-drum returns as
Short Mini Skirt Girl hops
into her convertible and drives off.

Did you ever hike
across 187,000 square feet
of a Super Wal-Mart store,
and wonder how four acres
of merchandise would
look if transformed into
farmland or forest?

Now, the topic of Wal-Mart
is complicated. Some would
argue that it’s evil and excessive
to house cheap junk and low-paid
workers on more acres than
most homes occupy.

Suddenly it becomes real:
life is finite, life is
one-third over, wrinkles
and gray hair are possible.

The magazine ad suggests things
to do while still alive, none of
which are checked off--begging
the question: what have I been doing?

Before this new decade
is over, I'll be called
Mom. I'm not ready, how
did three tens happen?

here, all pretense is
gone, the situation is
plain and simple: we
are a small group of
people, we are alive
standing beside a hole
human hands dug with
shovels, dirt piled into
a mound, square sides
of the hole scraped clean

in that hole, in that
plain wooden box
is a body, formerly
a person. in that hole
the world as we know
it has ended forever.
the sun shines, it
is warm. the rabbi
says that death is not
our normal way.