He
sweats earnestness from every pour of his Michigan born body.
Met
him in Kalamazoo when the Bob show was brown and the Coleman stove burned
liquid fuel like it was going out of style.
There’s
no pretending with this guy because once you look into his Shepherd eyes you
know you’re sunk like the Titanic or a doughnut in a cop’s cup of Joe.
I
can hear the father and son from across the hall arguing and it reminds me I’m
not the only one going off my rocker.
We’re
firmly embroiled in this pandemic predicament that keeps right on trucking
through our lives like a bull hell-bent on world domination.
Only
America has seemed to not get the memo that if we don’t cease and desist from
endlessly screaming about our constitutional rights we’ll be Dixie fried like
the peanut butter, banana and bacon in the King’s sandwich of choice.
Yes
this poem was meant to be for Klute and yet I’ve gone off the rails because too
often when playing Chutes and Ladders shoving the game pieces up your nose hardly
solves the problem at hand.
When
I’m impossible to deal with Dan knows just what not to say because he has
turned his back on conflict a long time ago.
I
love Dan Klute like I love Lady Liberty and I hope I’m always welcomed into his
heart because it’s only his friendship that keeps me whole and relatively sane as
too many people around me go nuts and I’m once again accused of being a monster.
Charles Cicirella
7/5/20
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