God, syrup and unattainable tranquility

God, syrup and unattainable tranquility 
       Headline – Cops: nude woman   

       attacks Waffle House customers
the morning presented me with a fog in regards to the previous nights activities and all I wanted was to placate my jones for boysenberry
and sit alone in a booth

to mull over my

plans for a relatively comfortable 

existence going forward
and then

here she comes
with God on her side

not a stitch on her hide and

a passion to convert the 

breakfast crowd burning

in her hitherto 

“safe for family consumption”

breast
and my simple wish for

a peaceful secular forkful of

griddle cake was dashed

against the jagged rocks

known outside of our borders

as good ol’

Crazy American Jesus
as she was working her way

down the aisle 

the only thing I could do

was find haven

on the far side of my booth

wave my fork

as a defensive measure 

and shift the condiment caddy

and napkin dispenser forward
a battlement of paper and plastic 

I hoped would at least distract

St. Agnes of Perpetual Nyuknyuks

from getting her buck 98 

airbrushed specials into me

before my hash browns arrived
luckily for me

(and trust me when I say

that luck pretty much washed

it’s hands of me a while back)

the guy she was grappling with

at this point tripped over

some old lady’s oversized satchel 

and they both went down

by the whiteboard scrawled

with the daily specials
about this time

East Podunks finest

were elbowing each other

through the door

Glocks at the ready

itchilly fingering

tasers that were set on fry
so I rounded my check up to the

nearest dollar, added 10 bucks

to cover the entertainment 

and slipped out the

employees entrance
safe in the knowledge that

anything they tell me I did

last night

pales when compared 

to the sway of true rapture 
(c) 2016 Fred Whitehead 

 

the art of jumping

the art of jumping 
I often think

what a blessing

forgetfulness can be

            but then again
these holes continue

to open

before me
I am always

having to relearn

the art of jumping
determining distance 

attempting full sprint 

calculating spring and release
always playing out

escape scenarios 

and remedies for injury
the whole time curious about what

might be waiting for me at the bottom should I come up short

and why I never bothered
to peak over the rim

of the all those I have

somehow

managed 

to clear
(c) 2016 Fred Whitehead 

this year

this year
the first day of the year

and maybe I’ll take that walk 

by the creek I’ve been

meaning to take
being a summer being

I’m likely to bemoan the first

measurable snow 

regardless of its beauty
and as it does when I allow myself 

the gift of solitude 

my mind will go to the word
before long 

I imagine I will 

anthropomorphize 

a rock by the waters edge

or an ancient tree

I can already hear them

voicing wisdoms 

and interpreting history

in yogi like cadences
maybe I will

stomp slop

off my boots and

look for a deer trail to

follow deeper into the 

thicket of the gorge

or traverse the edges where

erosion 

has eaten away at the bank
it’s been warm 

a fair amount of rain

and the creek will be running high

its usual whisper taking

on a sort of urgency

a reminder to me

to relax a little

to stop fighting the current

            just float along
another thing

I’ve been meaning 

to do
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead