Flying Star 15 Aug 22

Old men type texts on their smart phones
with one finger and no emojis.

A middle aged woman slices her eggs
with knife and fork.

All but one of the laptops are Macs.
Most of the coffee is diluted with cream and sugar.

From the Quick Fix station
Dean gets a scoop of ice cream in a coffee cup.

Twelve indoor tables are empty—three full.
Twelve outdoor tables are full—three empty.

For the fifth time in ten minutes a person
pushes on a glass door that does not open.

Two young women use the cafe as their office—
write code on screens that look similar to 1980s DOS.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Publishing

Paul’s innovative thought
felt very heavy in his arms
after he lifted it from the car seat.

He birthed his innovative thought
only three days ago
and this rapid development was unexpected.

Paul carried it in the car seat
because that is what you do
with newly birthed things.

He protected eggs he purchased
at the grocery store in this manner.
And baby spinach.

Paul knew the innovative thought
was growing its own pace
and that was fine.

He was confident it would meet other thoughts
thus make friends, enemies
or form no connection at all.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

Never Forgot How To Fly

Paul cracked two eggs into a skillet.
He broke both yokes.

He considered wearing only a star-spangled tie
and nothing else.

It was too cold for such silliness.
His objection had nothing to do with his love handles.

Paul realized his life is in the middle
of a horrible accident that ends in explosions.

His smart phone glass radiated cracks.
That was seven mirrors worth of bad luck.

Last week he removed the gold in his teeth
for beer money on Two-for Tuesdays.

Paul worked cataloguing the world’s sins.
His recent favorite was Wrath.

Even though he watched The Great Escape
fifty-one times, he identified

with characters who got recaptured
or gunned down after a chase scene.

Long ago he stopped trying
to let his life follow God’s plan.

He’d seen the blue prints.
He was a nested egg swallowed whole by a snake.

Paul decided to live like the walking dead.
This allowed him to throw away his cares.

His cares were plucked by a drunken violinist
stuck in a balcony playing background music.

The inevitable explosion came as he noted
Lori’s phone number in his black book.

His afterlife party released a broad assortment
of caged birds from world zoos.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

Demens

I returned to the kitchen.
I’d been gone since breakfast.
No one was there.

A broken egg spread on the floor.
The brown broken shell.
The whites like mica.
The yoke intact.

I did not drop it.
I cannot imagine a burglar stealing an egg.
Only to drop it.

I have no memory of dropping it.
Maybe the burglar stole my memory.
My memory of dropping an egg.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

postscript

The title Demens is the Latin root of the word dementia. It means: out of one’s mind.

Dianne suggested that egg whites look like mica when spread on the floor. I did not believe her at first, but the internet provided photos of mica and I have to tip my hat to her for the suggestion. Well done.

Love & Light

Kenneth