Interesting is hard to define,
“That was interesting,” is so different from
“Ooh, that’s so interesting,”
I mean, context is everything, right,

I’ve been watching BBC videos about free will
And it seems that we probably don’t have any,
That’s interesting
Because it goes against just about everything I teach.

Theory, if a neural synapse fires, the electrical currents making that happen
Seem to have already been determined by the relationship of all the other
Electrical activity around us, no choice exists there. So why did my mother
Hassle me all those years about not eating onions?

That decision was out of my hands,
At least that’s the way I’m rationalizing
My dislike of onions
Based on the videos I watched this morning.

But, it was about four in the morning,
A series of thunderstorms had me up earlier
Than I’ve been in a while, so
I might have missed out on understanding all of the deets.

Storms are coming in again tonight
Or early morning, but shouldn’t the weather guessers
Be better at guessing since
All of this stuff seems to have been preprogrammed.

Is it inevitable that the President gets re-elected?
Are we doomed to another massive outbreak of Covid-19
When the restrictions are lifted?
Why don’t I already know?

The whole thing smells of onions.
The awful texture that they have, the cry inducing smell, and
The lack of sensitivity they promote because every recipe
Is chocked full of those disgusting bulbs.

I never liked those effers,
Still don’t, oh, I’ll eat broccoli, now,
Just the tops, but never an onion,
Free will or not.

Am I supposed to believe
That the Humble Narrator
Committed all of those ghastly crimes,
Survived the wretchedness of prisons
In what might have been the cure
That removed from his only likable joy
Classical music and induced sickness
When the violent tendencies arose
Was able to be deprogrammed
So his worst nature would reveal itself again
Only to realize that his awfulness
Was only really the product of youth, that
He simply needed to grow up?

One of the first movies to get me thinking
Involved the Humble Narrator,
At sixteen, I could not understand
Classical music,
Milk as an intoxicating beverage, or
The violence a young protagonist
Seemed hell-bent on inflicting on others.
In my advanced age of maturity,
I sill don’t get those things,
Although, when Wynton plays classical, I stop,
And almond milk is good, especially in oatmeal,
But I understand violence, even anger, less and less.

So why is it so hard for me,
An aging, matured person, to believe young Alex
Could figure life out, but about twenty.
Because I can’t,
And if you tell me otherwise
I’ll kick and stomp and pout like I’m a president or something
Until we come to blows,
In an octagon, on an island, with no fans,
For pay per view.
Really, it’s not hard to believe that people mature
And it all ends happily ever after.

I hear Pachelbel…

Does pasta make you fart?
And what’s up with detox tea,
What’s in it that is detoxifying,
And what does that mean anyway,
Are pasta farts detoxifying
Or just an expression
Of adolescent behavior?

Keep thinking young.

Spring break started today,
School’s been out nearly a month already,
The green is taking over the brown outback
And the renewal of everything
Is in full swing, now.

Except for, well, you know.

Reports say the planet is vibrating less,
Fish are back to the canals,
Whales are seen by the shore,
Goats are coming down from the mountains,
Pollution is dissipating,

People are staying inside…

Are viruses Mother Nature’s fail-safe button?
Does she see the calamities we cause
And then let something out
To remind us that we are caretakers?
The realists are yawning, right now.

Still, I wonder.

One runner,
Six bikers not drafting,
One dude getting ready to mow
While his kid played with chalk
In the driveway,
Eight people,
That’s all I saw on my run today,
Three hours
And I only saw eight people,
There were plenty of cars,
But no one was out.
Then I had to get food,
Lots of people,
I had on my running hat face thing,
That had part pulled down
So only my nose was covered.
A bunch of kids, like twentyish years old
Had gathered to hang out,
They took their meeting into the parking lot
To rev their engines and try to be normal,
If that’s even possible for twenty-year-old dudes

Weird, it’s weird being out,
Not seeing people,
Seeing people in masks,
Having people avoid everyone
To the point where when they are shopping
They look like the kid in the bumper cars
Who can’t make the car go straight.
They just spin their cart around and around
Panicked that they might get sick,
Probably not thinking about getting someone else sick,
Anything for those Golden Grahams big momma.

How about a mask?
The runners are distancing.
The bikers are distancing.
Can’t an overly loud,
Inappropriately clad, even by Walmart standards, mother
Make a choice that isn’t based on her loudly exclaiming
(Without a mask), “I gotta get my Grahams!!!”
Okay, you are going to get them, but
Could you think about being more respectful of the pandemic
Despite your need for high fructose corn syrup.

Eight people,
Three hours,
No complaints.

Twenty minutes at Walmart,
Just enough time to see people
As they probably always are.

It’s been the better part of a month since I ran with my friends. Last night, my phone blew up with a texting storm that pushed the boundary between laughing and gagging. The few moments of inappropriateness and the destruction of innocence brought a much-needed relief from days of monotony inflicted by social distancing. I’m not sure when I’ll be back around those guys again, but it was sure nice to hear from them. Hopefully everyone, everywhere, is being safe and able to avoid this virus. It would be good, too, if you checked in with all your lost peeps.