Selected Poems
Taking Hostages
He wrote poetry cut from of clippings of words he found in the pages of the New York Times.
He presented his latest complete work with offset type and differing fonts and sizes.
I told him it reminded me
during the Troubles
when we used to take hostages
and make ransom notes.
He looked at me stunned
and was unsure if he should
call the police or just run off.
My father had a mean set of tools.
He kept track of each one with his name
and company logo etched, in case it was claimed.
My father was careful with his tools
and never lost one.
His co-workers were careless
and when they ended the day
one man would often leave tools
loose about the office or worksite
strewn about like massacre victims.
My father would gather the tools and
bring them home. One day he had “had enough”.
He came home with a pile of telephone tools and laid them on the table.
We grabbed the scissors and a pile of newspapers
from under the coffee table and we went to work.
We went the full measure.
We tied the helpless tools up into baby doll chairs
with waxed kite string.
We blindfolded each with pieces of torn rags
and gagged with cotton balls.
We took polaroid pictures of two screwdrivers, wrench and hammer.
We placed a nut and a bolt, a nail and a screw into an old padded jewelry box.
These bits would be delivered to the tool's family to show we meant business.
Free men get pushed to the limits that comedy can provide.
One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter
and sometimes the kidnapper is your father.
He presented his latest complete work with offset type and differing fonts and sizes.
I told him it reminded me
during the Troubles
when we used to take hostages
and make ransom notes.
He looked at me stunned
and was unsure if he should
call the police or just run off.
My father had a mean set of tools.
He kept track of each one with his name
and company logo etched, in case it was claimed.
My father was careful with his tools
and never lost one.
His co-workers were careless
and when they ended the day
one man would often leave tools
loose about the office or worksite
strewn about like massacre victims.
My father would gather the tools and
bring them home. One day he had “had enough”.
He came home with a pile of telephone tools and laid them on the table.
We grabbed the scissors and a pile of newspapers
from under the coffee table and we went to work.
We went the full measure.
We tied the helpless tools up into baby doll chairs
with waxed kite string.
We blindfolded each with pieces of torn rags
and gagged with cotton balls.
We took polaroid pictures of two screwdrivers, wrench and hammer.
We placed a nut and a bolt, a nail and a screw into an old padded jewelry box.
These bits would be delivered to the tool's family to show we meant business.
Free men get pushed to the limits that comedy can provide.
One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter
and sometimes the kidnapper is your father.
