CONFLUENCE

“When you're travelling, the best advice is

 likely to come from a local person.”-F.Mawer

In Pittsburgh, even the bridges are yellow.

Should’ve painted a few green or blue.

If you end up getting on the wrong bridge,

you’ll probably end up being lost for hours.

In Pittsburgh, they roll with the black and gold.

And things come in threes like Pitt’s flag with

three castles, three rivers, that I always misspell,

and three stars on one side of a Steelers helmet.

In Pittsburgh, be sure to ride the inclines,

they’ll take you up to another neighborhood

make you think how beautiful it must look

at night- the city, the bridges, the confluence.

In Pittsburgh, you must have Iron City beer,

get a Primanti Brothers sandwich, hamburger

drenched in Heinz ketchup on thick, soft bread.

They put the cole slaw and fries on the inside.

In Pittsburgh, you should try to visit Oakland,

stop at the Cathedral of Learning, get a key

to see the classrooms from around the world.

Take a picture with a statue of the panther.

In Pittburgh, you have to go to a ball game,

monuments for Clemente, Stargell, Mazerawski.

The old fans still sing, “We Are Family” and they’ll

tell you all about living in the City of Champions.

In Pittsburgh, get to the Southside, tattoo parlors

and bars line Carson Street- but don’t stay too long

or have too many beers, or you’ll begin to think of

how perfect a yellow P would look on your forearm.

HORSE SHOW, 1989

Crowds of people who all seemed to know him,

mingled and exchanged strong handshakes with

each other as they entered the fairground gates.

Riders strutted in fancy hats, ties and dress suits,

a mixture of old England and early plantation times.

They weaved through a lot filled with horse trailers,

Big Chevy Crew Cabs, and waxed and shiny Dualies.

Farmers, merchants, horse lovers, and their families

rushed to the bleachers at the edge of the grass field.

We headed to the concession sheds to find dinner.

Great northern and navy beans in their own sauce,

a thick white gravy from slow cooking all day long,

heaped in deep round styrofoam bowls, a huge slab

of Vidalia onion on top, a block of cornbread for a lid.

“Dry and gritty, it’ll scratch the throat as it goes down”.

He pointed out Master and we cheered as Mike rode

the shiny black stallion with its chain ankle bracelets.

Head up, throwing legs high, showing off, “the big lick”.

In those stands that night I discovered Southern culture,

Tennessee Walking Horses and my father, the horseman.

AN ODD SHOPPING LIST

A large box of Saltine crackers,

two cans of Campbell’s Soup,

red & white label, chicken noodle,

a package of Lipton tea bags and

assorted colors and flavors of Jell-O.

Half gallon of Tropicana orange juice,

a six pack of Canada Dry Ginger Ale

piled in a blue plastic shopping basket.

If I saw all these on the conveyor belt

gliding along, on the way to the cashier

it would only mean one thing for me.

Somebody must be sick in that house.

Maybe I’m strange, maybe everyone

else has different ideas about what you

need to help you get better, or what

you should buy when loved ones are ill.

PREMONITION

He’s at the mall with the other teenagers.

She’s at her monthly meeting for school.

Tonight I’ll take myself out to dinner to a

place I go when I’m alone, because it’s ok

to be alone there. The pizza guys make me

feel at home when I approach the counter.

I tell them, I’m going to stay here tonight.

Assorted red and green neon signs shine

above my cheese steak with fried onions

as I tap the bottom of a bottle of ketchup.

It occurs to me that in a few years, this may

be me more often. Sitting at a table for four

by a window watching families come and

go on a Friday night, laughing together as

they rush out the door with pies in hand.

LAST NIGHT ON PLANET EARTH

“in case of rapture this car will be unmanned”

- bumper sticker from the 70’s

Instead of going to the family’s New Year’s Eve party

they laid in bed, under the covers watching fireworks

on TV as the Millennium arrived across the time zones.

He waited for confused computers to cause malfunctions,

havoc, mass destruction- maybe the end of the world.

Number two was about to appear in the thousands place,

catchy slogans, media hype, a wave of fear, but in the end,

there was no end. Just a basement filled with generators,

flashlights, firearms, fuel, rolls of duct tape, cases of water,

cans of tuna, and boxes of granola bars bought from Costco.

This time, roadside billboards quoting scripture went up,

messages swirled across the internet, people at work felt

a need to talk about it, radio shows called in the experts.

Somehow, he began to consider, maybe the end is near?

Last night, he was all alone, but took himself out to dinner.

Feeling like a death row inmate from the movies, he ordered

a Philly cheese steak with fried onions that filled his plate and

he had no worries of cholesterol levels or high blood pressure.

As he shook on the salt, he admired the difference in the flavor.

He sipped his Diet Coke and said a prayer for all he’d been given.

A CHANGE IN PRAYERS

I used to ask for things when I prayed.

I prayed for the Eagles to win the Super Bowl.

I prayed for first place in the Spelling Bee.

I prayed for fame and fortune in Hollywood.

I prayed to marry some hot chick from TV.

I prayed to be able to travel to the great cities

of the world- London, Paris, Tokyo, Rome.

I prayed for the bright lights of Broadway.

I prayed for a big mansion with a swimming pool.

I prayed for more things, like a black Corvette.

My prayers have changed so much since I was a boy.

Decades later, I stopped asking for things in my prayers.

Instead I pray to thank God for my health, my job,

my little house, my education, and a car that works.

I thank him for my loving wife, an exceptional son,

and for never having to go without a meal or drink.

I thank him for a couple of weeks at the beach,

so that I may sit for a while and look at the ocean.

I thank him for a week in the mountains with my boy,

for the moments when we stop take a deep breath.

I thank him for my big brown chair, gray sweatshirts,

books that come in the mail and Willie Nelson songs.

I thank the Lord for sunny days and baseball games

with cold beers and cheese steaks with fried onions.

And now that I think about it, there is one thing

that I do ask for when I pray-I ask for time, more time

to be here with my family to enjoy all I’ve been given.

PERMISSION

As a boy, he had to ask for
something to eat or drink.
Open the fridge or cabinets,
they acted like he was stealing.
And if he asked, it didn’t mean he
was getting it. Many times he’d hear-

Don’t drink that Pepsi, its mine.
Don’t take those cookies; those are for your sister.
Don’t touch the Slim Jims, they belong to Dad.
Don’t eat those pretzels; I bought ’em for your brother.

One day after school he ate two of his
stepfather’s Tastykake French apple pies,
the kind with white icing, little bitty raisins.
His mother humiliated him for being selfish
and asked, “Just who do you think you are?”
He was reminded of how much his father
loved his pies and what he’d do when he got
home from work and found them missing.

He gathered his change from his Snoopy bank
and took off running for the path, a shortcut
through the fields, out to the road, past the brook
and onto the avenue to the corner store.
After buying the pies, he ran back quickly to
replace what he’d taken without permission.

AND THE DOCTOR SAID

Your cholesterol level is borderline,
not high, but higher than the last time.
Put yourself on a low fat diet. Avoid pork
products, red meat, greasy fried foods.
Your blood pressure is good when resting,
but it became elevated on the tread mill.
Put yourself on a low salt diet, don’t forget
to read the package labels very carefully.
Walk for thirty minutes, three days a week.

He thanked the doctor, hung up his cell phone.
Looking in the rearview mirror he noticed
that his face looked like someone who’d
just been robbed or ripped off by a crook.
He knew this meant no more buttered biscuits,
pork roll, Italian sausages, bacon cheeseburgers,
fries, chips, half and half, ice cream, or cake.

To think, I almost didn’t answer that, he told
his wife. I mean we are on vacation and
we just got here is what he said as he pulled out
onto Highway 12 from a souvenir shop’s
parking lot. It was the Doctor, he called to discuss
my physical, all the tests, the blood work.
He mumbled to himself with a faraway stare,
wishing he’d had his pork barbecue, potato salad,
and baked beans before he answered that call.

GOING OUT TO EAT WITH HIM

We remember how he’d walk deliberate
and slow scanning the restaurant from
left to right, looking for his spot, usually
a table off to the side, over by the window.
They steal four wheel drives in these parts.

If he heard a squealing baby or cranky child,
he’d tell the lady, best not sit us over there.
And when a boy at the next table spilled his
orange soda and it splashed a bit towards us,
we held our breath waiting for his reaction.

We remember how the waiter apologized
for the meals coming out late and how he
promised they’d be out in five more minutes.
That’s what you said twenty minutes ago
is what he said in his matter of fact way.

But we laugh the hardest when we talk about
how he ordered the chicken and dumplings,
then asked a naive young waitress if she was
the one who choked the chickens in the back