Dean

Dean

He was called Mean Dean
By the school children

Mean Dean was the name

He Accepted

He excelled at the 

Hot hair cut

For any boys who

Misbehaved

Mean Dean

Died a little

Bit

That day

My

Friend

Paul

Died

Losing an Eye

My Uncle Ken
Lost an eye in an
Industrial 
Accident

My grandpa
Lost his hearing
Working the
Mines

What did I lose because of my labor? 

My heart?

My soul?

Nah

Amputation is involuntary

You just lose the limb

Things ain’t what they used to be

 A flute 

Some woodwinds

An announcer 

A fifteen year old 

Pianist

What is

Nonet

A poem that gradually reduces

Is called a nonet. You would think

That each line would be shorter

Than the previous one

And sometimes that is

The case, but words

Are tricky,

Complex

Beasts

Recipe

 Cooking a Poem

Is it cooking or baking?
Baking, of course relies
On mixing ingredients

One
        By
               One

(by two by three by four)

And the blending or kneading
        Or some such arduous 

Task

 Then the long 

                        Bake

An hour

                At 

Least

(by two by three by four)

Cooking, now that's an 
Action
            Sport 

Eye contact with your 
Opponent is key
Constant engagement|
Assured

Blade skills ensured
Chopping
        Dicing
Chiffonade

The watching of the

    Heat

And then, of course 

Stirring and scraping 
And watching the

Heat

Cardiovascular

But when it comes down

To 
    It

You eat well

                    Either 

Way

My Friend Ron

I really don't know what happened
Suddenly I get a phone call, a call
In this day of text only messages

That, of course, is a sign to answer
But I was indisposed. You  can make
Of that what you will; I will make 
That of what I will. But I am
Disconnected

But this morning when I paid
Attention

Ron was dead

Dead by his own hand

It is not my place to judge
Was my immediate thought
And it isn't

I don't understand
How pain, in whatever
Form

Can drive someone to
Kill
        Themself

But I burned my hand

                        Badly
    On Sunday
           Searing, electrical
                            Pain

If I had to live from
                    Day
to

                                                            Day

Godspeed

Ron

Intestate

Reaching fifty eight
And I know exactly
Where everything 
Goes

I also know exatly
Where everything doesn't
Go

It goes where to the

World