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Sunday, March 13, 2011

SAFE FOLLOWING DISTANCE


is important when driving on any road,
like when the NJ Turnpike goes down to
three lanes- semis, cars, and buses flow
together at 65 miles per hour all at once.
In Driver’s Ed, they said something about
counting telephone poles to find out how
many feet you need to stop the car and
how braking on rain slicked roads was worse.

And when you don’t see the bumper or plates
of the guy behind you, then he’s way too close.
Mr. Wuzzardo wasn’t their instructor but surely
the lessons should be the same and kept simple.

Aggressive drivers cut in front of him, weaving,
taking away his optimum following distance.
Is it any wonder why people get killed here is
what he tells his wife, who insists he stops cursing.

He imagines having laser blasters on the hood
like Star Wars or a machine gun mounted on the back
like Jeeps from the old show, Rat Patrol or like the
biplanes they saw in the Air and Space Museum.

His son thinks lasers would cause too much of
an explosion, a gun would spray bullets all over,
possibly hitting innocent people who are safe drivers.
They agree it should be a disintegration ray, one that
would attack the atoms of an SUV and driver making them
disappear into thin air, no mess, no fire, no guilty feeling.

SOME PEOPLE


are eating lasagna today or black eyed peas,
roast pork with kraut and mashed potatoes.
Others eat last night’s party leftovers while
watching the Rose Bowl parade or Mummers.
Little snack trays, TV tables we used to call them
are erected in living rooms, dens across America.
A day devoted to resting, eating, and watching
College football, a Honeymooners marathon, or
movies still in plastic wrap in a stack under the tree.
Soon they’ll think of Monday, going back to work
or school and once again he’ll laugh as he says-
“You know, somebody has to pay for all this stuff.”

RESOLUTIONS


Another year gone too fast,
for the new year, I make no
resolutions, since I make them
each day of my life anyways.

I don’t have a calendar, most days
I can’t tell you the date, the number.
When I get old, I won’t know the day
of the week, I’ll feel lucky to be free.

Today I may ride the exercise bike.
I may read a few pages in my book.
I may decide to clean up around here.
I may take a walk in my neighborhood.

I will be thankful for sunshine, rain,
snow melt, blue jays on the branches,
a warm living room, a big brown chair,
my little house where I feel at home.