Jet Fuel Review, Issue #6
Well, I still have trees on my mind. And there's still a sideways tree in the back yard. The maple, oak, and tulip poplar in the front are still standing. And I have a poem called "Aging in Oak" up in the new issue of Jet Fuel Review, "a high octane literary journal." Here it is, along with "Jumping the Shark," about a fall my mother took in Florida a while back, and, uh, Björk, and the tv show Happy Days, among others. Hard to explain how my mind works, but if you've ever been here before, you have a clue.
The oak I'm aging in is a barrel, and I'm wine.
It's a sad day, the 50th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and I remember it. The end of Camelot. It helped, last night, to see Spamalot at Community Players, local talents hamming it up, me laughing it up. Laughing is good for us. Assassination is not. Nor is assassination of character. Sigh, Facebook, shut up. Which reminds me, the host for Thanksgiving this year has asked straight out that no one discuss religion or politics. It's such good advice, and hardly anyone takes it. But she's asked, so I hope everyone will honor her wishes! I'd be grateful for that.