Finish Line

This song by Sarah McLachlan, “In The Arms Of An Angel” always makes me break down. He is my son, Aaron Robert Kistner. Hearing this song takes me deep into memories of my sweet angel. My son Aaron died in his 18th year, just prior to entering college to study music. He was a very handsome, kind, and gentle young man – and a fabulous singer. I miss him so, everyday. I ache to hold him close just once more — to hear his beautiful voice. I wrote this poem very shortly after his tragic death in a horrible auto accident.

In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95

 

This is my favorite picture of you son,
the one I treasure most
since your passing.

A simple snapshot,
taken at the airport,
upon your return
from having run the New York City Marathon.

A gentle, triumphant smile,
eyes beaming behind those ‘cool’ shades,
jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness,
bag gripped firm and steady in your left hand,
medal dangling proudly from your strong neck.

The victor: gentle, cool, hip, carefree, proud, and strong,
– fiercely handsome!

How profound this captured moment proved to be.

Taken just before the finish line of your 18 years,
it said it all.

Your race is run,
your bag is packed,
your reward’s in hand.

Fly my sweet angel – fly!

*
rob kistner © 1995

 

Orbisculated


 

E ating grapefruit is quite dangerous
‘cause the juicy things fight back
if you stab it best be careful
better give it your best try
‘cause carelessness will likely get you
a stinging squirt in your left eye
or depending on how your squinting
it just might be the right tonight

see ‘ya gotta keep least one eye open
cause that grapefruit spork is hard to steer
and whether left eye or the right
that nasty squirt will bring a tear
and if when you eat a grapefruit half
you sprinkle salt upon it first
know a salty juicy eye-squirt
absolutely is the worst

so if you plan on eatin’ grapefruit
perhaos some grapefruit eatin’ classes
or better yet — don’t spend big money
just get yourself some cheap sunglasses

*
rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

 

Folding Together

My daughter and son surprised, I should say shocked me yesterday, revealing the name and photo of my actual birth father — and the name of my birth mother. This information was unknown to me for 74 years. In fact, I was unaware my kids were genealogy mining. I was stunned to look at the picture my son showed me of a man, heretofore unknown to me, and quite clearly and eerily see “myself” — and the unmistakable faces of my son and daughter. Joseph Lawrence Perrmann and Evelyn Tieke — my birth father and mother. I was utterly floored. Using De’s prompt, I’ve created an imagined romantic scenario of that day they met, and I was conceived as a post WWII bastard — later to be placed in a “sealed” adoption.


 
she is as bright as sunshine
and as beautiful as a summer day

what a most unususl place
to find such beauty
he muses to himself
as he paints her fondly
with his admiring eyes

“come here often miss”
he rolls off his lips
with a slow sly smile

“only when my laundry’s dirty”
she smiles back
with a perky snap

“what brought you in mister”
she banters jokingly

“like you, dirty laundry”
he emphasizes dirty

“you got a big load there”
she observes coyly
with a lingered downward glance

“you got a nice full basket too”
drawing ‘nice’ to a sly sssizzle
“what’s your name”
he asks, seductively

“Evelyn, what’s yours”
she flirts back

“Joe, but friends call me JL
you can just call me
whatever feels good to you, Evelyn”
he offers with an inviting smile
“can I call you Eve”

“sure, Eve is nice
what’s the L for, Joe”

“Lawrence — Joseph Lawrence Perrmann
purr, you know — like a cat”

“I’m Eve, Eve Tieke
you know, like the wood”
she says
“wa d’ya do JL,
rather, Joe”
she teasingly purrs

“I’m now a cop,
was Navy shore patrol,
I’m just back from war”

“where’s your gun officer”
she coaxs

“I keep it holstered
until I need t’use it”
he warns mockingly

“is it a big gun, Joe”
feigning wonder

“it’ll do the job Eve
you like guns”

“not usually
but I bet yours is nice”
she says breathily

they continued chatting
and flirting
while they laundered
growing more interested
and mutually attracted

just then
buzzzzz

“well, laundry’s dry Eve
wanna help each other fold”

she looks around
“these tables are awfully small”
she replies encouragingly
“I live just around the block Joe
and I have the perfect table”

“great Eve, let’s go there
and fold together
— how does that sound”
he asks suggestively

“purr-fect, Joe
I would love to fold with you”
she says directly into his eyes

“OK,
then let’s go
show me the way Eve”

they pause
their imaginations fully engaged
smiling deeply into each others eyes

“OK” Eve says warmly
body language relaxed
eyes willing

then JL turns
grabs both baskets
full of their warm laundry
and out the door they go

together

and into my history


rob kistner © 2021

Poetry at: dVerse

Hope

  • For society to have a real chance we need quality education!

    IMG_8584

     
    Last Hope

    ~

    I lift myself quietly
    very quietly
    from beneath the sheets
    soiled with neglect
    soaked with my nightmares

    I am again awake
    from another dark night
    that began with fear
    fear I might not survive
    and ends in sorrow
    realizing I did

    I rise
    make my way carefully
    past the shallow-breathed crumple
    that lay milky-eyed
    in a heap on the floor
    un-moving
    save a twitch of the head

    a head which now harbors demons
    where nocturnal angels of sweet release
    had lain down lush upon it
    in fevered embrace
    lustfully conjured
    by last night’s spoon and lance
    still skewered silver in the soured vein

    this wreckage is my mother

    I stop but for a glance
    verifying life
    then move on head down
    angle to the bathroom
    to the scum-brown bowl
    to wash my face
    lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
    that hangs bare and lonely

    strange eyes
    hold me in the mirror
    broken as my heart

    eyes of knowing
    eyes of sadness

    grief courses through me
    weighing upon my being
    burning into my heart

    I want to cry out
    but there is no one here to hear me
    no hero that can help me

    driven by instinct to survive
    by urgency to flee
    I shudder away the paralyzing despair

    in this dank food-less morning
    in this ruined single room
    in this coat-less chill of predawn
    I gather up my books
    step lightly through the door
    down the damaged stairs
    into the hostile streets
    heavy with this childhood of strangled dreams

    I duck and dodge
    in and out of shadows
    praying to once again avoid the evil
    that lurks and slinks
    among the garbage and graffiti
    of these crumbled bricken’d canyons

    that rolls slow and lethal
    gripping cold blue steel
    in predatory drive-by

    evil
    seductive as a smile
    deadly as a snake

    evil
    which if diligence should fail
    I fear will consume my soul

    deliberately I continue
    until at last I find my way
    to the building
    to the classroom
    to my teacher
    to my desk

    to the only hope
    to which I dare cling

    ~ ~ ~

    rob kistner © 2011
    (revision © 2019)

    ___________________________

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  • Two Moments

    These are two poems about two powerful and indelible life-moments I shared with my son Justin.

    The first “Night Sky” is about the courageous moment he chose, at age fourteen, to leave his mother’s home to move across our country, to live with me in Oregon — through the years of his high school and college graduations, and his early career. This was an incredible gift he gave me.

    The second, “Book of Days”, is about the moment, two days ago, when he and his wife Christine, moved from Oregon to pursue a career advancement — a deeply bittersweet moment for me.

     

    Night Sky

    •

    you arrived in spring
    asking why I’d left

    I had no good response
    but the other shoe had fallen
    with a deafening thud
    so what was I to do

    you looked startled by life
    and asked me about sorrow

    I had no good response
    so I took you in
    and watched as you untangled truth
    marveling at your balance

    for 19 years
    together we watched the night sky
    and wondered about love

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011


    Book of Days

    •

    in the book of days
    clearly it is written
    your time for moving on
    beyond the reach of yesterday

    in this book of days
    so too is it written
    clearly mine grow short
    my grasp loosens on tomorrow

    our miles apart grow greater
    our time together lessens
    as you pursue the future
    I slip further in the past

    and per the book of days
    this is the way of nature
    the son becomes the father
    the father bows away

    yet stands this father’s dream
    would that this space between
    but vanish with this pain
    of bittersweet farewell

    that the book somehow rewritten
    would bend both time and space
    and my days once more
    stretch full to your horizon

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    Book of Days

     

    Book of Days

    •

    in the book of days
    clearly it is written
    your time for moving on
    beyond the reach of yesterday

    in this book of days
    so too is it written
    clearly mine grow short
    my grasp loosens on tomorrow

    our miles apart grow greater
    our time together lessens
    as you pursue the future
    I slip further in the past

    and per the book of days
    this is the way of nature
    the son becomes the father
    the father bows away

    yet stands this father’s dream
    would that this space between
    but vanish with this pain
    of bittersweet farewell

    that the book somehow rewritten
    would bend both time and space
    and my days once more
    stretch full to your horizon

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2011

    • written for my son Justin upon his moving away

    Time Window

    This piece is offered in response to visual prompt Mag 24 at Magpie Tales.




    Time Window

    •

    In the solitude
    of my assisted exile
    the window above me
    frames a grey
    and barren sky

    but with eyes closed
    I see home
    of long ago
    alive with morning

    the scurry of creatures
    warmed by summer

    I hear nature
    in splendid voice

    the chuff
    of tree’d red squirrel

    the song
    chirp
    and trill of birds

    chickadee
    goldfinch
    western bluebird
    and others

    fly
    flutter
    and flit

    cracking black-oil sunflower seeds
    that spill from feeders

    a red-tailed hawk
    calls
    from atop a Sitka spruce
    swaying
    in the crisp blue sky

    the muffled belling of a deer
    wandering the safety of old-growth
    whispers
    through the foothills

    the distant bark
    of a neighbor’s dog
    echoing the basin
    up along our stream
    reminds me
    we have friends nearby

    my wife’s
    gentle laughter
    validates the friendship

    her tender smile
    validates our love

    the rustle of leaves
    stirred by the breeze
    wafts through the valley

    smartly punctuated
    by the staccato
    of conifer cones
    that fall
    from time to time
    wrested free by chickaree
    and chipmunk
    chattering high in Douglas fir
    busy with their forage

    wap wap wap

    they bounce off our roof
    striking the ground

    closely followed
    by the scamper
    of their liberators
    crunching their way
    to the heart-meat of the cone
    the delicacy
    that elicits this furious industry

    drifting in the window
    intoxicating fragrances

    cedar
    pine
    fir

    lily
    rose
    lilac

    grasses
    loam
    and more

    a rich
    earthy bouquet

    caught in my reverie
    I breathe in
    deeply
    to suddenly remember

    I am alone
    carefully banished
    to this forgotten cloister

    sobered
    I exhale
    and do not open my eyes

    a solitary tear
    escapes

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    Breakfast Lovers Fanatsy

    …I wrote this in response to the July 5th prompt at Big Tent Poetry


     

    Breakfast Lovers Fantasy

    •

    whether panning for poached
    fishing for fried
    or sifting for softly scrambled

    maybe bobbing for boiled
    or sunny side up
    angling for over easy

    perhaps baiting a hook
    for benedict
    or dangling a lure for deviled

    be they baked in cakes
    or dropped in soup
    it’s a whites & yolks wet dream

    it’s a breakfast lovers fantasy
    going to the eggs stream

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • manipulated photo entitled: “PanFish” — created by: rob kistner

    Questions

    …I wrote this in response to the June 28th prompt at Big Tent Poetry
    and for prompt #59 at Carry On Tuesday


     

    Questions

    •

    he lifts himself quietly
    from beneath the sheets
    soiled with neglect

    makes his way carefully
    past the shallow-breathed crumple
    that lay milky-eyed in a heap
    un-moving on the floor
    save a twitch of the sodden head

    this wreckage is his mother

    why do you just lie there mother
    my head is full of demons son

    the response only imagined
    she remains slack and death-like
    where nocturne angels of sweet release
    had laid down lush upon her
    in fevered embrace
    lustfully conjured
    by last night’s spoon and lance
    still skewered silver in the soured vein

    mother — why do you want to die
    the return is only silence

    he lingers but a moment
    verifying life
    then moves on
    head down

    he angles to the bathroom
    to the scum-brown bowl
    to wash his face
    a face lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
    that hangs bare and lonely

    eyes of knowing
    eyes of sadness
    stare into the mirror
    broken as his heart
    then close

    your eyes hold a story my son
    will you tell me your story

    yes mother
    if you really want to hear about it
    if you really could

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Anger – 3 Contemplations

    …I offer this 3-part contemplation on anger in response to the June 7th prompt at Big Tent Poetry

    • the first poem is a free verse conceptual perspective on the essence of anger
    • the second is a poem I would like to share, which touches the primal anger I felt at the time of the tragic death of my 18-year-old son, Aaron — written shortly after the horrible event
    • the third is the pantoum which was directly suggested by this prompt — it is based on a poem I wrote while in the early stages of my grief, also regarding the raw, unfiltered anger I felt, and still feel occasionally, surrounding Aaron’s death



    Anger

    •

    love
    bruised

    crying out
    to be understood

    so loudly
    that it cannot hear

    frustrated
    that its capacity to feel

    is far greater
    than its ability to express

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    ______________________

    Primal

    •

    i remember well the day he died
    the searing pain
    that fueled my rage
    setting fire to the skies

    primal power

    giving life to sorrowed hatred
    sustaining me no food or sleep
    while i cursed the cruel heavens
    in ringing spite that toppled mountains

    and leveled to despair
    every mocking face of care
    reaching out to touch me
    saying how they understood

    they sure as hell — did not

    or they’d have never gotten near me
    they’d have given me vast berth
    for all i wanted was to strike them
    make them scream
    make them hurt

    i would have given him my life
    with little thought have taken yours
    for if my son could no longer live
    nor would anyone on this earth

    • • •

    rob kistner © 1995

    ______________________

    This Cannot Be

    •

    this cannot be the way his story ends
    his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
    this cannot be the horror fate intends
    if life you want mine now I do concede

    his youth snuffed out by someone’s mindless deed
    if debt is owed please I will make amends
    if life you want mine now I do concede
    hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends

    if debt is owed please I will make amends
    anger grips me like a poison seed
    hell’s threshold now to where I stand extends
    my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed

    anger grips me like a poison seed
    god your cold and heartless name offends
    my soul ablaze my heart begins to bleed
    a blackness here within me now distends

    god your cold and heartless name offends
    hatred of you deep inside does breed
    a blackness here within me now distends
    upon my very essence it does feed

    hatred of you deep inside does breed
    cruel god is this the horror you intend
    upon my very essence it does feed
    this cannot be the way his story ends

    please tell me this is not the way his story ends

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    • collage above entitled “Stages of Grief” by: rob kistner © 2010


    ______________________


    In loving memory of my son, Aaron Robert Kistner: 11/4/76 – 7/3/95

    Words of the Wizard

    …I wrote this in response to prompt #6 at Writer’s Island, the prompt is “Unforgettable”



    “The Wizard of Westwood”
    John Wooden 1910-2010

    Words of the Wizard

    •

    John Wooden has,
    on this 4th day of June,
    in the year 2010
    left this mortal realm
    after 99 years
    of untiring service
    impeccable wisdom
    and great love

    a man of balance
    and spiritual depth
    such as John
    comes so seldom
    it must be seriously considered
    that this world
    has lost
    one of its special angels

    and that the warmth
    and the stability
    of humankind
    may in fact
    suffer consequence

    I shed not a tear
    for John
    he needs no pity
    it is for the rest of us
    that I heartily cry

    the following
    are the immortal words
    of a great and profoundly humble man

    gather close
    and hear

    •

    a mentor is someone
    who can give correction
    without causing resentment

    ability is a poor man’s wealth

    adversity is the state
    in which man
    most easily becomes
    acquainted with himself
    being especially free of admirers then

    be more concerned
    with your character
    than your reputation
    because your character
    is what you really are
    while your reputation
    is merely what others
    think you are

    be prepared
    and be honest

    it is amazing
    how much can be accomplished
    if no one cares
    who gets the credit

    although there is no progress
    without change
    not all change is progress

    consider the rights of others
    before your own feelings
    and the feelings of others
    before your own rights

    do not let what you cannot do
    interfere with what you can do

    don’t measure yourself
    by what you have accomplished
    but by what you should have accomplished
    with your ability

    failure is not fatal
    but failure to change
    might be

    ability may get you to the top
    but it takes character
    to keep you there

    listen
    if you want to be heard

    never make excuses
    your friends don’t need them
    and your foes won’t believe them

    failing to plan
    is planning to fail

    if you don’t have time
    to do it right
    when will you have time
    to do it over

    there is nothing stronger
    than gentleness

    the true test
    of a man’s character
    is what he does
    when no one is watching

    if you’re not making mistakes
    then you’re not doing anything
    I’m positive that a doer
    makes mistakes

    it isn’t what you do
    but how you do it

    it’s not so important
    who starts the game
    but who finishes it

    don’t let yesterday
    take up too much of today
    make every day
    your masterpiece

    it’s the little details
    that are vital
    little things
    make big things happen

    it’s what you learn
    after you know it all
    that counts

    players with fight
    never lose a game
    they just run out of time

    material possessions
    winning scores
    and great reputations
    are meaningless
    in the eyes of the lord
    because he knows
    what we really are
    and that is all that matters

    never mistake activity
    for achievement

    success comes from knowing
    that you did your best
    to become the best
    that you are capable
    of becoming

    success is never final
    failure is never fatal
    It’s courage that counts

    success
    is peace of mind
    which is a direct result
    of self-satisfaction
    in knowing
    you did your best
    to become the best
    you are capable
    of becoming

    talent is god given
    be humble
    fame is man-given
    be grateful
    conceit is self-given
    be careful

    the main ingredient
    of stardom
    is the rest of the team

    the worst thing
    about new books
    is that they keep us
    from reading the old ones

    there are many things
    that are essential
    to arriving
    at true peace of mind
    and one of the most important
    is faith
    which cannot be acquired
    without prayer

    things turn out best
    for the people
    who make the best
    of the way things turn out

    what you are
    as a person
    is far more important
    that what you are
    as a basketball player

    young people need models
    not critics

    you can’t let praise
    or criticism
    get to you
    It’s a weakness
    to get caught up
    in either one

    you can’t live
    a perfect day
    without doing something
    for someone
    who will never
    be able
    to repay you

    • • •

    words by: John Wooden 1910 – 2010
    opening by: rob kistner © 2010

    • To learn more about John, please click here

    Trouble Comes to Dry Gulch

    • In response to the 4th prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I introduce you to my imaginary childhood friend. In the heart of a terrified young boy, he was more than real…




    Trouble Comes to Dry Gulch

    •

    you were my truest friend
    my steady rock of safety
    my captain of escape
    you were always there

    the amazing man of magic
    the hero of the weak
    defender of the helpless
    my always gentle friend

    when the footsteps in the hall
    woke me in the night
    I would feel you tug my hand
    and under we would go

    through the secret passage
    you kept beneath my bed
    to the waiting viking ships
    and off to fight the dragons

    in the land of snow and castles
    carved from clear blue ice
    in our robes of fur
    we struck with swords of gold

    you were very brave
    in the face of fear
    I knew you would appear
    never laughing at my tears

    when the grating metal rasp
    of door latch in the dark
    would bolt me from my sleep
    you would have the horses ready

    we would thunder off to dry gulch
    to wrangle up our posse
    save the townfolk from the bad guys
    and return when all was calm

    you were very swift
    in a snap you would arrive
    in time to get me out alive
    helping me survive

    below the ocean we would dive
    in your crystal submarine
    down to the coral world
    marveling at the creatures

    we would leave the sub
    to swim among the wonders
    to dart and spin and float
    far from pain and worry

    you were very smart
    my midnight flight arranger
    to rocket us from danger
    far from the evil stranger

    we would soar to venus
    in your silver ship
    or to some distant star
    and do battle with space monsters

    and when they all were slain
    we would fly the milky way
    circle all the planets
    thankful to be weightless

    no matter how afraid
    I knew that you would find me
    knew you’d never judge me
    I knew how much you loved me

    knew you’d have me back by day break
    with the dark night far behind us
    and the warmth of welcomed sun
    would once again embrace us

    the midnight footsteps now are quiet
    the ships and rockets sailed away
    no more trouble comes to dry gulch
    the crystal sub now long in dry dock

    I’m not sure I ever thanked you
    perhaps took your love for granted
    without you I’d never have made it
    I never will forget you

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    The Key

    • In response to the 3rd prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I offer a gothic tale…
    • I also offer this in response to prompt #116 at One Single Impression




    The Key

    •

    I must move quickly from this light
    that pools incrementally
    in this long
    pungent
    segmented hallway

    there is some safety in the shadows
    that linger tight
    to the arch walls

    so I bolt
    through the full moon’s glow
    that seeps silvered through the windows

    I press myself
    against the damp irregular surfaces
    that are the stacked-stone
    boundary breaks
    of this eerie chiseled passage

    I pause at each
    until I reach the last

    I halt

    sliding two fingers
    of my right hand
    into the small pocket of my waistcoat
    to confirm that it is still there
    I feel the cool brass
    of the oddly carved key

    relief seasons my trepidation

    nothing in my being
    wants this dire mission
    to which I am shackled

    but it is only my hand
    on the inscripted dagger
    gripped tightly in my left
    that can bring an end
    to my uncle’s unholy
    reign of horror

    I am the last surviving member
    of our cursed bloodline
    so the brutal deed
    falls to me

    creeping stealthily forward
    like a shade on the dank wall
    I move cautiously closer
    to the iron-laden
    dense wood door
    of his sleeping chamber

    my heart pounding
    my diaphram starved for breath
    I feel I may pass out

    but still I pursue
    the evil incarnate
    that lies
    locked away
    in undead repose

    suddenly
    a noise
    immediately behind me

    it echoes through these catacombs
    pierces my taut raw nerves
    and instantly paralyzes me

    trembling
    I turn

    no one there

    hushed
    I listen intently

    no other sounds
    save the blood
    pulsing as a roar
    in my ears

    I begin to move
    but again
    I hear it

    panicked
    I jerk my head around
    and see

    in this frozen moment
    my stressed mind deduces
    the source of the noise

    moisture
    collecting on the stone ceiling
    gathers overhead
    into sagging condensation

    it released
    as a weighty droplet
    splattering on the floor
    just behind me
    with a sharp startling slap

    I relax a bit
    enough to again draw
    tensioned breath

    several more labored
    careful steps
    and I place my hand
    gently on the wrought handle
    of the immense door

    transferring the lethal dagger
    to my quivering right hand
    I reach
    steadily as possible
    into my pocket
    and withdraw the strange key

    it is unnaturally heavy
    and seems to emanate
    an unearthly energy

    I clutch it firmly
    fearing if I lose my grip
    I will lose my nerve

    I guide the key
    into the slot
    of the ornate handle plate
    seating it fully

    slowly I begin to turn it

    I feel the resistance
    as the key’s teeth
    engage with the bolt
    and begin to grudgingly
    draw it from its secure well

    just before I have fully retracted it
    I pause
    my mind racing
    blood pressure soaring
    overcome by the magnitude
    of what I am about to do

    no turning back now
    this must be done
    and I must do it
    but I am terrified

    still I hesitate
    attempting to gain
    my much needed composure

    I slow my heartbeat
    steady my breathing
    steel my resolve
    and turn the key
    its final quarter inch

    the lock clicks
    the handle releases
    and the door unseats inwardly

    this is it
    fate has dealt the deck
    I am prisoner
    in this horrible game

    I swing the door open
    ever so gradually
    and step in
    toward my destiny…

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010


    Oh Brother!

    Presented in response to the May 10th prompt from Big Tent Poetry, which suggested “be playful! Let the sound of the words carry the weight (of the poem)” — so here is my playful poem of sounds…

    ____________________________________

     

    Oh Brother!

    •

    ACHOO!
    exploded in the quiet room
    followed by a couple loud sniffs

    cover your mouth
    I blurted in a whisper
    before I bonk you on the noggin

    he crackled with disdain
    clicked the snap on his backpack open
    and with a clunk and a clatter
    surprisingly retrieved a tissue pack
    from the cluttered contents
    looking at me like I was cuckoo

    he flicked one out
    as a second fluttered to the floor

    I growled my disapproval

    he just giggled
    honked his hooter
    and hissed defiantly
    jangling the keys
    he had also pulled out

    I knocked them from his hand
    back into his backpack
    and mumbled at him to hush up
    and settle down

    he murmured something unintelligible
    rattling his pack shut
    and plopping it back on the floor

    I shushed him again
    and started to slowly sizzle

    suddenly I hear slurping
    as he is sucking a soda
    through a straw
    splashing the liquid
    over the ice
    as he swirls and shakes his paper cup

    I snap
    and shout
    shut up
    thumping my fists on my knees

    suddenly
    everyone is eyeing me

    I hear the lady next to me
    going tsk tsk
    like I’m the problem

    it was all I could do
    not to whip around in my seat
    and whack her

    yikes I thought
    enough is enough

    so I hopped to my feet
    zipped my coat
    grabbed him by the hand
    and zoomed us out of there
    into the car
    slamming the driver’s door
    and vrooooom

    sped us home

    never again I snorted
    never again will I take you
    little brother
    to the movies

    he just whipped on his iPod
    began humming to his tunes
    and ZAP…

    flipped me off

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    ____________________________________

    photo from: Getty Images

    In A Heartbeat

    In response to prompt #52 at Carry On Tuesday, and prompt #115 at One Single Impression




    In A Heartbeat

    •

    the trip to visit you
    is filled with memories
    sweet anticipation
    knowing the warmth of your hello
    the strength of your handshake
    your fond embrace

    the stretch down I-5
    we’re laughing and singing
    miles zipping by
    till we spy your exit

    then west toward the coast
    a quiet buzz of excitement
    fills the car

    at last we catch sight of your vineyards
    as we crest big rock ridge

    then the left turn
    down your valley road
    so beautiful
    so familiar

    hands on the wheel
    I anticipate every bend and rise
    every dip
    exhilarating
    as I navigate the gorgeous vistas

    the sound of our tires
    as they trundle ‘cross
    the narrow wooden bridge
    that fords your stream
    boulder’d and crystal clear
    as it tumbles and falls
    brisk from mountain snow-pack

    coming round
    we see the corridor
    of faithful old-growth firs
    stepping back for us
    inviting our return

    the regal mountains reign
    high above
    granting us safe passage

    boughs bend
    branches sway
    celebrating that we are back
    when your gate comes into view
    swung open in welcome

    it’s left up your gravel drive
    the pebble and crushed rock
    crunch and clatter in stony rustle
    as we traverse your hill
    to see you and Michelle
    cuddled on your porch swing
    your family pouring down the steps
    into the yard
    beaming bright eyed
    arms open for embrace

    six hours and 300 miles
    separate us
    but the journey always goes by
    in a heartbeat

    the road to a friend’s house is never long

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010