I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


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Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Joe’s Bar When I Was Nine


April 4, 2009  (I was 64)

    Joe’s Bar When I Was Nine
You’ve heard of Joe’s Bar
everyone has
Lots of people have been there
Joe’s my grandfather
I call him Grampa
he’s bald and he always needs a shave
He was from the Old Country
too poor to stay there so he came here
He opened the bar before I was born
He doesn’t remember some stuff
so he doesn’t have to talk much
He talks Bohunk best
It’s only a three-two joint
so he sells bootleg shots under the bar
We don’t do stuff cause he doesn’t know how
He gives me pop and candy all the time
Some old guys sit at the bar all day
They smoke and spit in the spittoons
They have false teeth
Grampa tilts the glass when he taps beer
then he uses a plastic wand to level off the foam
He puts the beer on the bar
rings up 10¢ on the cash register
In the backroom I check the jukebox coin-return
I find two nickels and leave by the back door
bike through the alley to the park
I don’t know why his bar is so famous

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