If I Died Today -- Part II

With 10 years to think about it and a typewriter in the law library, the author muses over the emotional highlights of the life he's left behind . . .

Squeaks

One day, when Bud and Ron walked home

From first and third grade school

Near Level Park, they stopped to watch

A squirrel play the fool!

Its mamma gave the signal:

"Danger! Climb the nearest tree!"

It found the nearest trunk, though blue,

And started there to flee . . .

The trunk was blue because that's how

They colored jeans back then --

The trunk he climbed was Buddy's leg,

Though starting near his shin.

Its claws were sharp, if tiny.

Bud reached down to pin him tight.

Wouldn't you know that little squirrel

Still climbed up with all its might!

An inch or two with each short jump,

Halfway to Buddy's waist.

The squirrel made it to Bud's back,

Bud's hand still firmly braced . . .

But with Ron's help, they made it home,

Then let the squirrel go --

Around and 'round the room he flew,

To where, he didn't know!

We named him "Squeaks," 'twas his idea --

The only word he spoke.

He fin'ly acclimated to

The house and his new folk.

We even took him on the train

To Washington D.C.

Where he escaped for sev'ral hours,

But then came back to me.

Mom wondered how the curtains

In our room got torn to shreds --

Trained, Squeaks could jump ten feet or more,

From shoulders to those threads . . .

We let the water trickle from

The faucet in the sink

In the kitchen, so when thirsty,

Squeaks could stand and get a drink!

One day our Cocker Spaniel, Chips,

In fit of jealous rage,

Took after Squeaks, who ran the house.

(He didn't live in a cage.)

I thought that Chips would kill him

As he headed for our room,

So I jumped up quick and grabbed the door,

Save Squeaks from certain doom!

Bad timing . . . As I slammed the door,

I hoped that he was in --

Squeaks bounced back off the closing door

And slammed into my shin!

I jumped up to try and miss him,

But I couldn't hold that pose.

When I came back down, him underfoot --

I crushed his little nose.

Squeaks hung in there -- just three days,

Then fin'ly breathed his last.

Brother Ron, the preacher, solemnized

His passing -- it was vast . . .

Ron's Mouse

Estes Rockets once were all the rage,

The hobby shop was stocked.

We pooled our funds to purchase

Estes kits. The neighbors flocked

Each time we readied for a launch.

But after a short while,

It was "Ho hum" -- so what, who cares

If one shot straight up a mile?

Brother Ron decided his next launch

Would raise the bar a bit --

He'd send a live mouse into space

With his three-engine kit!

The payload space was big enough

For one white mouse, so small.

The three-stage rocket was a beaut!

Three stages were quite tall . . .

He lit the fuse. It sputtered as

The neighbor kids all watched --

SWISH, Swish, swish … the engines fired --

Just before the launch was botched --

No one knows what actu'ly killed him --

Maybe when the chute deployed

The explosion that deployed it --

The mouse, prev'iously annoyed --

Was -- how you say it -- "Scared to death?"

No matter what the cause --

That mouse was dead -- just proving --

Why we honor nature's laws . . .

Mariko

The court case was a travesty

Of justice -- just my take --

It put a notch in someone's gun.

They won. A big mistake.

In fact, in his summation,

After all was said and done,

The prosecutor actu'ly said

No laws had been undone!

"Mr. Ruskjer didn't break any laws --

His trades were squeaky clean.

And the way he borrowed money?

Insofar as we have seen,

"Was as legal as the day is long"

(Perhaps a paraphrase)

"But if you think he lied just once

Throughout this legal maze,

"You have to find him guilty . . ."

Knowing he had been the one --

He -- the prosecutor -- knew what he,

With help, they all had done.

Convincing those poor jurors --

Spinning truth into white lies,

Saying loss that never happened

Should still count, or otherwise

There'd be no case -- no evidence,

That any lies occurred.

Contingent Liabilities

Mean loss -- just take his word!

Well, the jury bought it -- no surprise --

The feds win ninety-eight

Percent of all their cases.

That's a fact. There's no debate.

What took everybody by surprise --

That is, except the judge,

Was a thing called "self surrender,"

Which all said, without a grudge,

I would have six weeks to wrap things up

Before that fateful trip

To summer camp for ten long years

My wife couldn't get a grip . . .

She's Japanese -- 'twas hard enough

To fathom what took place

But when the judge said, "Straight to jail,"

There's no way she could face

The loneliness -- no interlude.

Who now could help her cope?

The shock went through her body --

In that moment she lost hope.

A shriek of abject hopelessness

Arose to fill that room --

The size of two gymnasiums --

Too small to hold that gloom.

I could not then console her.

They took me straightaway.

No parting kiss or heartfelt hug.

I truly hope some day

That judge is left as lonely

As she dealt that heartless blow

Not to me -- but to Mariko.

This great country's lost its glow . . .

Interlude

That hardly sounds like "fun-filled,"

More like doom and gloom. Ya think?

But now we'll change the focus

To what's way inside the brink.

Voluminous in its own right.

Perhaps we'll break it out

Into categories: Friends and Lovers,

Projects -- that about

Would cover it. We'll start with friends

Who come with lots of clout --

The closest? That's Ananda.

Always will be, there's no doubt.

There's Elaine and Edith, Carmen too,

And Linda by times two,

Then Bilda, J, Szablis, and then

There's Alice -- all too true.

If you get the feeling mostly girls

Compose this august list,

You wouldn't be wrong. They do. It's true.

I think you get the gist.

Elaine

Elaine, Elaine -- my sweet Elaine . . .

My intellectual peer!

There's none like you to share with

My intellectual sphere

With any time! On anything.

You bring out all the best --

Psychology, biology --

It matters not the quest!

Another nonjudgmental type

(Unholidays to boot!)

I loved our non-Thanksgiving day --

(I thought it was a hoot!)

I miss that close proximity --

So often just the sight

Of you out by the pool would be

The impetus that might

Launch threads of consternation,

Be the answer to a whim

Or would start the drilling process

So darn deep it reached to grim!

I still live for your e-mails --

(They still always make my day!)

When I'm feeling like life's worthless,

You still know just what to say!

I don't feel like that too often,

But it's nice to know, if then,

That there's someone who knows what to say,

If not where, then cert'nly when!

You're my intellectual sweetheart,

Running naked in your dreams,

Remote viewing those who miss the mark --

With no virtual extremes!

Alice

Alice Loughman -- the picture's as clear as a bell

A few seconds still frozen in time . . .

I'm dressed in my best -- corsage in my hand,

At fourteen, I'm still in my prime!

The once-a-year social -- a banquet of sorts

The closest we come to a ball --

(Sans dancing and drinking -- with faculty there --

Not really that much to enthrall . . . )

My brother and I will be singing a song --

The gymnasium's somewhat transformed --

Table settings for four, cafeteria-made food --

(Over Sterno -- sufficiently warmed).

I'm ahead of myself -- let me back up a bit.

I'm still over at Alice's place.

Her mother is showing me pictures of her

In the bathtub -- at two (just her face!).

The moment of truth has arrived -- there she is! --

Descending the stairs in a glide.

I feel like Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind

Only butterflies flutter inside!

Her eyes never leave me -- I'm standing in awe --

Peripheral vision's shut down!

She's wrapped in green-silver from shoulders to toes

In an elegant, full-length, silk gown.

I'm speechless -- mouth open -- stunned -- mesmerized -- awed --

I've never been so overcome --

And now I'm supposed to pin flowers on her?

I feel like I'm one giant thumb!

Those butterflies churning inside ramp it up.

The flowers must pin to her chest.

If I'm the one pinning, (with all looking on),

I'll prob'ly be touching her breast!

Then panic sets in. The only thing worse

Than embarrassing both me and her --

Would be if I stuck her there -- that would be bad!

My vision then started to blur . . .

The reason that silk shines so nice is it's smooth --

Quite lovely on any contour.

Try grasping it up between finger and thumb

Over breast -- with an audience -- Sure,

Easy for you, maybe. Not so for me.

I quit after three or four tries.

Kinda ruined the moment of bliss for a bit,

But it rescued my still-burning eyes . . .

The rest of the ev'ning was ever so sweet,

Though I couldn't tell you much, if you asked . . .

What we ate? Where we sat? What we talked about there?

It's like sunshine -- I just sat and basked!

Birdie Hosford

Birdie Hosford ranks first in my mem'ry of girls.

Just a fleeting short mem'ry, that's all.

Rebecca -- her sister -- and she, with their mom

Were at 3830 that fall.

Our moms were conversing inside -- we were out

Breathing fresh air and otherwise bored.

When Rebecca (or Becky) had this great idea

For a game sounding somewhat hard-core.

The name, she explained, held the rules in a phrase

Six small syllables, three of them -- 'em --

There was "Catch 'em" and "Kiss 'em" then "Ditch 'em" -- that's it.

Don't know 'twas for us or for them . . .

I think only boys were to go after girls,

In the '50s, that kinda made sense.

Now'days girls catch too, prob'ly girls and/or boys!

But back then, I guess we were more dense . . .

But I dutif'ly caught Birdie numerous times,

Planting wet, sloppy kisses to cheeks.

And she dutif'ly squirmed, each time rolling away

It's too bad it didn't go on for weeks!

But alas, just one night full of fun -- that was it --

Both the girls and their mom didn't return.

But the image of Birdie -- with her innocent smile

Maybe taught me the meaning of "yearn."

Evelyn Tillgren

Ev'lyn Tillgren, my really first foreign affair

(They're more often than not more mature.)

I'm in fifth grade, she's fourth, although set back a year,

With Senerva, her sister, for sure.

Our houses were close -- two blocks (closer to three)

Both were nearly a mile from the school --

Nice, since we walked, I could carry her books

She invited me in -- That was cool!

We'd play games or just talk, with her sister on guard,

Making tasty treats (also a mess)

Nothing ser'ious, but fun to see Norwegian norms

Which were better than ours, I confess.

Then one day she shocked me -- as I turned to leave

She was standing behind their front door --

She said, "We could get married someday, don't you think?"

I didn't wait there to hear anymore!

I was ten. She was nine. And beyond playing house --

Getting married? So what about kids?

It was too much to think about -- at least for me,

Instead, I thought, just hit the skids.

The next time I saw her (She'd moved far away --

And had too, grown a number of years.)

Gary Smith, who had eyes for her, went with me there

To see if she'd shed any tears

For one or for both of us. I didn't care.

But I wanted to see what'd become

Of my little Norwegian, her thoughts and her dreams --

She still laughed, but had thickened out some --

Maybe seeing the two of us threw her off pace

The term "airhead" -- to her seemed to fit --

Satisfied, with no longing, I gave my consent

So that Gary knew now he was "it."

Evelyn Tillgren

Ev'lyn Tillgren, my really first foreign affair

(They're more often than not more mature.)

I'm in fifth grade, she's fourth, although set back a year,

With Senerva, her sister, for sure.

Our houses were close -- two blocks (closer to three)

Both were nearly a mile from the school --

Nice, since we walked, I could carry her books

She invited me in -- That was cool!

We'd play games or just talk, with her sister on guard,

Making tasty treats (also a mess)

Nothing ser'ious, but fun to see Norwegian norms

Which were better than ours, I confess.

Then one day she shocked me -- as I turned to leave

She was standing behind their front door --

She said, "We could get married someday, don't you think?"

I didn't wait there to hear anymore!

I was ten. She was nine. And beyond playing house --

Getting married? So what about kids?

It was too much to think about -- at least for me,

Instead, I thought, just hit the skids.

The next time I saw her (She'd moved far away --

And had too, grown a number of years.)

Gary Smith, who had eyes for her, went with me there

To see if she'd shed any tears

For one or for both of us. I didn't care.

But I wanted to see what'd become

Of my little Norwegian, her thoughts and her dreams --

She still laughed, but had thickened out some --

Maybe seeing the two of us threw her off pace

The term "airhead" -- to her seemed to fit --

Satisfied, with no longing, I gave my consent

So that Gary knew now he was "it."

Bilda Lopez

It took sev'ral years before culture again

Defined girls more moxied than most.

I'm now out of school and on to D.C.

At the GC, I proudly would boast.

That's when Bilda Lopez (Ana Bilda to some)

Moved into our house there on Carroll

She tidied a bit, watched the kids, saved some dough,

Was more free from the dorm, oh so dull.

As a point of discretion, here's all that I'll say:

Twas the happiest years of my life!

For 3 1/2 years, if she only had asked,

I'd have gladly had her for my wife!

Carmen Miranda

Puerto Rico was next, as a cultured affair

There's an actress who wore quite a hat --

Piled high with mixed fruit, she was legend (of sorts)

She was Carmen Miranda -- that's that.

Not the Carmen Miranda who then worked for me

Setting type in my typesetting shop --

An aerobics instructor to Christian dance tunes

With a fetish for things Betty Bop.

She would routinely beat me at handball back then

But the mem'ry that most takes the cake

Is when she invited me to an event

As her escort where she had a stake

In IDEA -- the outfit with worldwide scope

International Dancers Club Ed

Educational Association or group

At their annual conf'rence or fed.

It cost $300 -- the cost for just one.

Carmen didn't want to pony up, though.

So she signed on instead as a greeter of sorts

Saving $300 or so.

Come the night of the ball, costume ball it was billed,

There were hundreds of physically fit

Instructors of female fitness, they were,

With no boys on short notice to get!

I'm the only one there with a Y chromosome!

Although it was assumed, not displayed.

Carmen came as a cave girl, guerrilla in tow,

On a leash, six feet tall -- and afraid!

There were girls (or Chiquitas) in bright yellow suits

Others dressed as an entire bunch!

Cave girls other than Carmen were there all alone.

The bananas would make quite the lunch!

The first few bananas were just photo shoots,

But then next they all wanted to dance!

Guerrillas are not usually named Fred Astaire

So at first I thought I had a chance --

But aerobics instructors -- three hundred or so --

And seemingly all of one mind --

No sooner had one had a session with me

Than the next one just followed behind!

It is hot in a six-foot-tall-all-fake-fur suit.

I'm the sit-on-the-couch type of guy.

I was seriously thinking it's heart attack time

When was saved by the collective sigh

Of hundreds of girls when they said we were through.

I was sweating profusely within.

My fake-fur-disguise (which was two inches short)

Still disguising me, soaked to the skin.

Linda Underwood

Linda Underwood, tall Amazonian built,

The same era as stated above,

I could never beat her at the game racquetball.

Most games ended fifteen to love!

She had marital problems. Her husband, she said,

Spent an hour a day in the mirror.

He shaved all the hair off his chest, then he oiled,

I thought a bit strange (even queer . . . )

He still got her pregnant (with two from before)

I remember her asking me by.

I offered to leave as she started to nurse.

She insisted I stay -- don't know why.

Could be we're just friends, with no secrets to hide

Way beyond native customs polite

Felt trusted beyond casual friendship, more like

Experiencing husband delight!

Dream On

It doesn't matter anymore

Who's right, who's wrong, or what's the score.

What matters now is, "What's for lunch?"

"Who's the CO?" I have a hunch

That he or she, while getting paid,

Is just as trapped (though getting laid)

As anyone who's doing time --

In some ways worse, I think, 'cause I'm

No longer bound financially --

No bills to pay substantially,

I'm free to read or sleep or write --

No traffic jams. Secure at night.

A solid roof above my head --

Free medical -- until I'm dead . . .

I'm free to muse, to think, to scheme --

In essence -- to live out my dream!

I'm Free!

I am "free"-er here in prison

Than I've ever been before!

They took responsibility

And tossed it out the door.

It's true, they also took my house,

My money and my car --

The ability to travel and do business --

That'll scar.

But they also took my headaches --

Interruptions on the phone --

Paying taxes, sticking stickers --

Pretty much, I'm left alone.

"Doing time" is what they call it.

It all boils down to how.

I've just never had the time before

I guess that time is now!

I never had the time before

To kick back with a book

So far I've kicked back quite a few --

Six hundred plus. It took

Ten years' "time" to self indulge,

My fingers to engage

The Clavinova keyboard.

In the chapel -- quite the cage.

I've had time to write three books so far.

(And we're only on year three!)

Add a screenplay too and sev'ral poems.

What's next? -- We'll have to see!

Oh yeah, I spent more than a year

Just playing with Forex --

You know, the money market

Yen and euros I can hex.

I think I found a way to safely

Navigate the maze

Mathematic'ly removing

Quite a bit of useless haze.

If I'm right (I've got five years in which

To hone my Forex skills),

I'll pay full restitution.

(In addition to new bills!)

Haven't heard a single doorbell,

No Jehovah's Witness pitch.

Haven't paid a cent for housing,

Or my meals -- not a stitch.

Well, I can't say that exactly.

For the right amount of books --

(U.S. stamps "Forever" earmarked

Can do wonders for one's looks!)

Same clothes -- dark green -- both shirt and pants,

But still right off the shelves

Mysteriously they trade for books --

Provided by green elves!

Colored pens, raw eggs, tomatoes,

Even berries off the vine,

For the right amount of barter,

This and more can all be mine!

Helps to have a useful hustle

What to do to make a dime --

Polish shoes or make some yogurt

Different ways of doing time.

We've got guys who make burritos,

Pizza worthy of the name.

Need some typing or a tutor?

Stamps or fish -- it's all the same.

I digress. I'm talkin' freedom

To be "all that you can be" --

Learn to make your own burritos

Use the microwaves -- they're free!

I know it sounds a little strange

To say there's things I'll miss

Five years from now when I get out

But let me just say this:

Doing time is what it's all about --

Inside or when you're "free."

To "use your time most wisely"

That's what I'll take home with me.

It's Criminal

Kidnapping, rob'ry, and torture . . .

A triad of capital crimes

Add blackmail, libel, and slander

Consensually bought with your dimes . . .

I suppose you could argue the logic

For special ops or CIA . . .

The "end versus means" is persuasive.

It's all good at the end of the day.

That's a topic for future discussion --

Pros and cons even I understand.

But against fellow U-of-S citizens?

In the home of the free? Our homeland?

Yet a common enough situation

A daily occurrence times ten

At all levels of our jurisprudence

No respecter of women or men.

Prior to my own arrival

At one of the better men's zoos

I thought prisons were just full of whiners

Johnny Cash types, just singin' the blues.

Nobody's guilty of nothin'

We all got hit by the Man

They're all twisted, but us, we're all innocent --

It's one big nefarious plan!

Ironic'ly that's not what happened.

Very few even bother with trial.

Nine out of ten take the deal --

Of the one in ten? Few in denial.

The ones, shall we say, with an attitude --

Not the ones dressed in green, but in blue --

Not a lot, but enough to have impact

Have the aptitude -- what -- of a shrew?

But a mean shrew who as a small child

Liked tearing the wings off of flies,

Who kicked dogs and set cat hair on fire,

Got good at creating bold lies.

They would revel at flaunting their power --

Intimidate, hassle, demand.

Little mind games to throw you off balance

And for that earn fifty-plus grand.

That's torture, according to Webster,

Since it's "anguish of body or mind."

Constant fear of erratic reprisal

Can eventually make one resigned.

What of blackmail? According to Webster,

"Extortion, coercion by threats"

Take the deal, or not only you go,

But your wife and your kids -- no regrets?

"We could put you away for forever.

"Take the deal -- it's 20 percent.

"Even if you didn't do it, it's cheaper."

Which, of course, was designed with intent.

If you're innocent (how could that happen?),

You fight it by going to court.

It's your nickel against several million.

They just smile with that insolent snort.

No question, the ultimate outcome:

Feds win almost all of their bets.

That's when kidnapping, rob'ry, and then some

Become more than mere troublesome threats.

What's left after paying your lawyer

Is taken with full court consent

Your house and your car and your earnings,

And no one seems troubled or bent.

You must be a bonafide felon.

Twelve people -- allegedly peers --

Decided you surely deserve this.

The press leads the pack with its jeers.

Thus, libel and slander are added

To government-sanctioned disgrace.

You're handcuffed, escorted by marshals

At first to some fed-holding place.

Which brings us back here to Camp Sheridan

Where inmates are kinder than cops,

Where what you might think as atrocities

Go on and on -- it never stops.

Yet, if you could somehow get glasses

To see things from my point of view,

It wouldn't be the inmates you'd question

Or size up as often we do . . .

The inmates who live here are people --

Good neighbors with families and friends

Who help out each other with warm hearts

In spite of what justice pretends.

To be fair, many cops here are people

Although they're restricted by law

To be caring beyond job descriptions,

Most are happy their pensions to draw.

I said kidnapping. Webster defines it

As "seizing or keeping by fraud."

After seeing it firsthand from inside,

I think Webster might somewhat be flawed.

What's missing is taking you somewhere

That's certainly against your will.

Whether or not it is "legal"

Is debatable. Why? Here's the drill:

Change those glasses for some that are godlike.

Look down upon earth to divine

Is the person just kidnapped unjustly,

Truly innocent or simply a swine?

If, in fact, the now guilty is innocent,

But regardless, he's now put away,

Is it not more than merely a travesty

To say "all the same" anyway?

So, too, rob'ry through rose-tinted glasses

Stands justified too -- bought and paid

As does slander and libel 'mongst other

Atrocities prev'iously made.

Who judges the judges and juries?

Prosecutes prosecutors who fail

By sending away useful citizens

To rot for ten years in some jail?

I'm sorry I come off so whiny.

It's just when it happens to you

And you see how so often it happens

To thousands and thousands more, too --

It then sudd'nly becomes a bit personal.

It's no longer an int'resting stat.

I can say as I see a change coming

It's not reached an awareness for that.

If you haven't been there to observe it

Or know someone up close now who has,

It's just something for writers of novels

To write but will never surpass

The injustice of sending an innocent

(Though later we might hear an "oops!")

To grind in the wheels of justice

While jumping through ten years' of hoops.

Go back to your paper and coffee.

I'm sorry I took up your time.

It is, as I said to begin with,

My nickel, but surely your dime.

Sorry if it got a little snarky towards the end there. The sweet innocent stuff was written when I first entered the system. The last two were after several years worth of seeing how things go on the inside. Thanks for hanging in there for the full ride!