SEAFOAM GREEN

The one legged crow told me to watch for the octopus in my dreams
Then go to the spotted tortoise and he'll tell me what it means

Maybe the floppy eared rabbit can explain away the truth
Your dog always thinks we should blame it on Joshua and Ruth

Can you relax in your giant strawberry blue chair?
With the red hot lights and the hurricane in your hair

Were you aware that the rats have retreated to the bottle necks
Now we can send in Mike and the rest of the fly specks

Who who's the wise one now calls out the indignant owl
When the rainbow bends the other way the wolf begins to howl

What was it the worms always used to say on Monday?
You can give a bird an inch but they'll eat you anyway

The screaming eagle was yelling at the crow one of us has got to go
And the crow says take one of these yellow pills you're harshing my mellow

Have you ever ridden a seahorse when you're feeling real small?
Or have you played blindfold ostrich polo on Washington's mall?

All I want for Christmas is a sea foam green deluxe edition Cadillac
Then I'm driving out of this lame ass dream and never looking back


FUTURE

I'm looking at you differently today
Nothings the same as yesterday
I move over when you come near
I hate it now that I live in fear
Before we were the best of friends
How's your wife, how's your children
Now our friendship seems ominously misplaced
Don't sit so closely you're invading my space
Now our silence is broken with a sigh
We part without saying good bye
I used to revel in our difference
Now suspicion builds its ugly fence
Can we put away the pain and apprehension
Can we ease the sorrow and release the tension
I'm afraid we will be too late if we wait
We can't let our children witness the hate
If I am able to open my arms to you
You have to embrace me - Don't you?

GOOD GIRL

Striving for uniqueness lacking finesse

Too abstract to attract

Green hair long underwear

Black roots combat boots

Pierced lips tattooed hips

Ripped-up pants herbal trance

Good girl in a fucked-up world


STRIP

There she is strutting on the strip
Is she buying or selling it

She looks like your sister
But will only call you mister

One close look tells the story
It's not so damn hard to see

She was a beautiful flower
He took that away from her

He was supposed to love and protect
Not to abuse and reject

No longer the little girl in curls
Lost now in Daddy's sick world

Should we kill her tormentor
Won't save her but maybe another

Did society create this beast
Are we all guilty, a little at least

Have we all clubbed him down
Kicked him, thrown him to the ground

Or is this just the excuse of the weak
"It's your fault, you made me this freak"

We've all heard it before
From the killer the pimp the whore



ZIPPER

If my head only had a zipper you see
I could open up and invite you in for tea

If only my heart had a pocket or two
You could slip in your hand and feel my love for you

If my eyes could interchange with yours
You would see what I see and what it's for

If my mouth was a letter I would mail it away
To you and when you opened it I would say

If there was a way I would love you more everyday
And I will hold your hand until were old and gray

If my laughter was like a summer nights breeze
It would swirl around your lips and whisper please kiss me please

If my arms were fuzzy like giant Teddy bears
I would squeeze you and cuddle you everywhere

If my words are like a whistler's melody
Than you love me as much as I love thee


SHE

She's beautiful with an ironic face
She stumbles with an elegant grace

She sees you from the back of her eyes
She's emotional like a child surprised

She shimmers on a moonless night
She's a super nova a blinding light

She knows what your thinking even when you're not
She's complicated like a mystery's plot

She sings nursery rhymes in her sleep
She dives into your heart like the ocean deep

She can heal all your pain with the slightest smile
She stays with you forever but only stays awhile

She innocent in a complicit way
She's confident in every thing she says

THUNDER

We could feel it, smell it, - you know how thick and palatable the air becomes immediately before a spring thunderstorm? The clouds hang heavy in the sky like massive engorged sacks of blood straining at their seams. There is a moment when the heavens quiver with hesitation an instant before exploding open and commencing to hurl their warm and sticky entrails towards earth, one fat droplet at a time.

This is how we all felt that afternoon in June. This was our moment. We quivered with hesitation. There was a mixture of anticipation and foreboding. We all seemed to be waiting for something, a spark, a combustion point, an explosion that would ignite the forest and our lives. That spring was unusually hot and there was no sign of rain in the near future, perfect conditions for forest fires. There was already one fire burning in our district and many more in neighboring areas. Some of our older friends were all ready working at the float plane docks loading and unloading planes. Float planes are used to supply everything needed to fight a forest fire. Flying night and day these planes delivered personnel, food, equipment, fire retardant, pumps, hoses, fuel and anything else firefighters need in the field.

Most of the loading and unloading of the float planes were done by young men thirteen to fifteen years old. When you turned sixteen you could be recruited or conscripted by the forestry department to fight the fires. Conscription was usually implemented when a fire was threatening civilization, park land or sometimes hunting areas and trap lines. The practice of conscription was used when there were not enough trained firefighters in the area and a fire needed immediate attention. The Forestry Department usually tried to take young men who did not have families to support, but would take anyone if they deemed it necessary. Fighting forest fires and loading the planes seemed exciting and dangerous to a young man. It was like a right of passage, proof that you had moved from childhood to adulthood.

In the urgency of getting the men and equipment to the fire, the planes, pilots and dock workers were often stretched to the limits of their endurance. In some extreme cases safety rules were bent to their fullest or broken and tossed aside altogether. Under these conditions pilots went on little or no sleep. Planes were overloaded and cargo was not stowed properly. There were times, depending on the situation and the cargo, when it was necessary to have one of the loaders fly to the destination and help offload the plane. On some of these trips the loaders safety became second to the type or amount of cargo. For example if the plane was hauling fuel, taking out the passenger seat meant getting an extra barrel in. In cases like this the loader would sit on the floor with no seatbelt, or seat for that matter.

This was the setting for that hot afternoon in the end of June two days before school dismissed for the summer break. We spent every other minute glancing out the classroom window as if we might miss something. Some part of our summer could start without us and it was driving us insane. Who was the Draconian bastard who scheduled the school year to drag on two weeks after the summer solstice? In the north we were lucky to get three warm months and June was one of them. It just didn't seem fair.

This was school life in a small northern town. There were twenty kids in our class room and three grades. Our school was made out of two double wide trailers back to back. It was hot in the spring, cold in the winter and the roof leaked like a sieve when the snow melted. We didn't care or know better we just knew we wanted out for the summer break.

So there we sat fidgeting, twirling our thumbs and day dreaming. Slowly, one by one we became aware of something going on in the hall outside our door, voices murmuring, feet shuffling. Suddenly our door opened and Mr. Miller, our Vice Principal stuck his head in. With a quick wave of his hand he summoned our teacher, Mr. Peterson. As the Vice Principle stepped back into the hall he appeared paler than usual and wore a stunned expression. The deer in the head lights look was on his face. Mr. Peterson rose quickly, scurried through the door and closed it behind him. It took only seconds for the low rumble of whispers to

rise to the inevitable cacophony of yelling and jungle noises that often emanate from young people. This happened anytime a teacher leaves a classroom, but this was different. Something terrible had happened and we all knew it. Speculations were flying around the room fast and furious.

The door knob moved slowly then stopped. The door opened an inch then closed again. Who ever was coming through that door with whatever it was they had to tell us, was hesitant like they were dreading the task at hand. The door finally opened, haltingly, at first then abruptly it was flung wide. The first person through was Mr. Peterson followed closely by Vice Principal Miller. A couple of steps behind him was Linda Sanders the school counselor. Wow! All three at once! Something monumental had happened. You could see it on their faces. They wore the tension like masks. You could almost see the stress oozing from their pores and atomizing toward us. We sat stunned in our seats as we witnessed this grim procession wind its way to the front of the class.

This was not good. We all had the same thoughts. Was there something wrong with our mom, our dad? What the hell was going on here? Mr. Peterson was the first to reach the front of the room, where he abruptly stopped, faced the class and stared at the floor. Vice Principal Miller caught off guard by the sudden stop almost ran into Mr. Miller who recovered quickly, stood ramrod straight and also bowed his head and stared at the floor. As Mrs. Sanders was moving into position beside the other two, an unspoken realization began to spread through us. This was not a parent, this was not an adult. Whatever had happened had happened to one of us, a student, a friend.

If it was one of our family members they would have had one person quietly leave the classroom. They would not be putting on this macabre display of force. Clearing his throat a couple of times Mr. Sanders began to talk. He was wringing his hands like a big league pitcher does to a baseball. "Class please sit down and be quiet," even though a quick perusal would have told him that we were already seated with our mouths clamped firmly shut. "Class" he began again, "listen up class. Vice Principal Miller has something important to tell you." Lifting hid head for the first time and with a look of utter determination our Vice Principal began to speak. "Good afternoon students I regret that I have some very bad news to tell you. There's been an accident at the end of the lake".

Did he say accident? An accident couldn't be that bad. Everyone knew that an accident meant a cut or bruise. At the worst a broken bone. This might not be so bad after all. "I'm afraid a plane has crashed" he continued "and someone has been killed". At this point he put his head down and appeared to by sobbing. There immediately seemed to be a tremendous roaring, like static from the radio turned all the way up. It was a moment or two before it was apparent that it was not a loud noise but rather no noise at all. It was in fact, deafening silence. Every single soul was on the edge of their seat, hands clasped together straining

forward as if to hear the name. What was the name?! Who was it?! What was the damn name?! Tell us now! Why are you sputtering? Was this some trick, some sick game? It was as if we were in terrible pain and hearing the name would some how release us from this agony! Of course we knew it wouldn't, it would only get worse.

Suddenly I hated Vice Principal Miller. I wanted to attack him! Strangle him, this harbinger of doom. I wanted to force him to tell us who it was who had died. Once again Vice Principal Miller began, very softly this time. His face was pale white and his eyes were red. "I am so sorry but I have to tell you, Jamie Lucas was killed in that crash."

Who? Who had he said? No one could hear him! As if realizing this, he said it again this time much too loudly, "Jamie Lucas was killed in that crash." The static noise was there again deafening like a tremendous waterfall. Jamie Lucas not Jamie he was one of the good ones, a special human being, a friend, a brother.

Maybe we all felt the same thing. Why him? Why not a bad kid one of the bullies, a jerk or a trouble maker, but not Jamie. We all had our list of enemies but if the truth be told any name would have been devastating. We were all in this together. We new each other to well and we cared for each other. Close proximity breeds close relationships. The long winters in a small town in Northern Canada at the end of a sixty mile, dead end road tended to lead to great familiarity.

This was the first time many of us had experienced the loss of a friend, some one close to our own age. What had happened? Why had it happened? All these thoughts and a hundred more were racing across our minds as we sat in stunned submission riveted to our desks afraid to move or even breath. Mr. Peterson was talking now. "If you would like to talk to someone about this, Mrs. Sander, me and the rest of the staff will be available. Please come and see us. School will be dismissed right after this, you can stay here or you can go home to your parents. Before I finish, I just want to tell you, we don't have any details aside from what we have already told you. The plane Jamie was on crashed, the pilot is injured and Jamie has died. Class dismissed."

At first, no one moved, and no one batted an eyelash, not one lip quivered. More than one of us had the fleeting thought that this was a test. Some appalling end of the year hoax. But we immediately realized this was all too real. Like a blizzard starts with just one snow flake, bewilderment and confusion began to boil and rile, then hurdling full tilt towards grief and sorrow followed closely by disbelief and denial. All this was taking place in the space of a minute or two then repeating itself again and again. We were being tossed around in an emotional whirlpool and we were all in danger of being sucked under. Some students were crying quietly, others were bawling like babies. Others still too stunned to react, sat staring forward or began to move about in a zombie like state.

Later, most of us found ourselves milling flock-like in front of the school and nurses aid station next to the school. Our town had no hospital or doctor but we did have a corp. of skilled and resourceful registered nurses who operated out of a one room nurses outpost. We were waiting, for what we didn't know. We just felt we needed to be there, together with, now, a group of parents and other people from town. What could we do? Nothing; but it didn't matter.

Through the rest of that day and into the evening, the story changed many times. It was actually the pilot who was killed and Jamie was only injured. No, that's not how it happened. Someone's dad was on the rescue team and he said Jamie was dead. On and on the stories changed and the rumors spread. The day continued to carry us through this altered state; this strange parallel world spewing out its distorted plot. Until finally later that evening irrefutable proof in the form of a van unloading a stretcher with a body bag on it and the searing image of Jamie's father ravaged with pain walking beside the stretcher. Jamie Lucas was dead. It felt like a steel toed boot to the diaphragm, can't breathe, feel sick, need to sit down, head ache, dizziness. Variations of these feelings were felt simultaneously and collectively by all present.

Damn he was a great kid a great young man, son, brother and friend. Jamie was the kind of person who looked you in the eye, told the truth and cared about everyone he knew. He held doors offered his chair and picked wildflowers for his mom. Jamie was kind, thoughtful and a good student. He once got a black eye protecting a younger boy from a bigger bully. Jamie didn't hesitate to jump in when others stood by knowing full well his actions were perilous. Jamie was a young man with infinite horizons. He could have been the next great artist, athlete, scientist or doctor. You could tell even then that he could do, or become anything he desired only to be needlessly cut down at the commencement of an assuredly grand life. If you were lucky enough to have known Jamie you were richer for it.

We knew things could never be the same. A little bit of darkness settled into our bright young lives that spring day; a darkness that seemed to propel us faster into adulthood. A lot of us grew up that year; we became young men and young women. Before that fateful day our little part of the word sparkled with optimism and wonder. After, it seemed the colors of the wild flowers were a little muted the sun less nurturing. Even the mountains appeared smaller somehow.


A work of fiction heavily based on fact.

Grandfather

You are the grandfather of the forest with your gossamer hair and your sweeping arms that stretch all the way to the ground. Your roots are gnarled and twisted, like veins on the back of an old man's hand. Your bark is scarred and torn from a lifetime of battles not unlike a great warrior's skin. On certain nights when the moonlight is just right you can strike terror in the hearts of even the bravest of souls ... for your appearance can be minatory and fearsome like a prodigious and hulking beast. In truth you are not to be feared, instead you are to be extolled and celebrated, for you are in fact a benevolent and nurturing colossus. You provide shelter for man and beast alike. You are protection from the north wind's stabbing fingers in winter and shade from the suns relentless penetrating eye in summer. Like any grandfather, you creak and groan from the agonies of age. You bluster and mutter, whisper and roar. For you have earned the right to complain and after all you are the patriarch of the forest and your voice deserves to be heard. Unlike old men all stooped and withered you still stand strong and tall, proud and regal, a monument to Mother Nature. You should be paid homage for your life of struggle and your relentless quest to reach the heavens. We celebrate your essence and inhale your aromatic breath as if it were life itself and it is and you are.