The profession I admire most and let me tell you why.
The well-rounded, just git’er done, universal, ‘regular guy’.
He can tell a joke, modify a street car and trap a bison for live-release.
He can repair most any broken thing by applying some elbow grease.
This profession is somewhat on the wane, its membership is in decline.
But please no tears, the group’s international president can fix the problem without even trying.
I’m the guy:
In the group photo:
About me I’d say:
Others might say:
My mother would know me, she would say:
The police commissioner would know me, he would say,
I’m:
If there’s one thing you should know about me:
I’m an old chunk of coal, not much more than carbon.
In the making for millions of years, no harm have I done.
Made of ancient swap vegetation, much energy do I possess.
It is humankind, not ancient fossils, that have created a modern mess.
My formation relies on a process that is tried and true.
When the process is finished, I become of use to you.
Today I am held liable for phenomina, like global warming, oh what a shame.
I’m not the cause, those who abuse me, they are the ones to blame.
You say that I’m inanimate, just hydrocarbon, an old chunk of coal.
You fail to realize, I’m part of creation, without me the world is not whole.
Just as a body is no longer perfect when it looses one of its members.
So the earth suffers when I am reduced to ash, from once glowing embers.
I thrive and grow when I’m under extreme pressure.
The value I provide when fully formed is beyond measure.
To you, mere mortals, don’t become too cocksure.
Your race will meet demise, but coal shall ever endure.
How would you describe yourself to someone?
I’m not originally from here, I was born out of state, my parents aren’t from here too.
I am in good health, I’m a bit short for my weight, my favorite color is blue.
I’m third in the birth order, I can write in cursive, I’ve had the measles, mumps and the flu.
I do things when I get a round to it, my methods are tried and true.
I have a younger brother, born after me, of sisters we have two.
For me that’s about all there is, now tell me, what about you.
What would you change about modern society?
These times are marked by rapid technological advancement and globalization.
A rise in secularism and a focus on the individual, rather than the nation.
My recommendation to bring a change to modern society.
Let us count our blessings and become purveyors of propriety.
What are your future travel plans?
I’d like to visit Antarctica ‘cuz I hear the place is cool.
Then it’s off to visit Africa, home of the world’s largest gene pool.
I’d visit Mawsynram, India, which gets the greatest amount of rainfall.
Off to Atacama Desert in northern Chile, that receives no rain at all.
After all of this travel I am famished and I need a bit of a break.
To The City of Brotherly Love, for the world’s best Philly Cheesesteak!
Comes to mind is my favorite dish, a true epicurean delight.
Not ingredients merely thrown together, the process makes it right.
The journey begins at the butcher shop, in search of a choice pork butt.
After perusing what’s in the display case, I choose the most, bestest cut.
Then off to the Eastern Market, in search of spices bold and fresh.
I manage to gather together what makes my dry rub, simply the best.
I return home laden with the treasure of my arduous trek.
Taking a moment, I pause for a bit, on my day I do reflect.
During this respite I am reminded, why I chose to prepare this dish.
It’s for those who most deeply know me, I know it’s their deepest wish.
The dry rub is on the pork butt, into the refrigerator it goes, for the night.
The process of slow cooking meat, begins hours before day’s first light.
Two hours before sun up, while all the others toss, turn, and continue to sleep.
The pit master is up caring for the coals, as though a Sheppard after his sheep.
Coals for the cooking, coals for the smoke, each require a subtle touch.
If one is not careful in tending them, either of the coals can become too much.
So it is, with great care, the pork is introduced to the environ of this cooker of low-heat.
The pit master is a true maven of techniques proven to turn pork shoulders into tender, melty meat.
The next several hours unfold, as though choreographed, well in advance.
It’s the work of a skilled pit master, moving with purpose, nothing left to chance.
And so the skilled movement continues and slowly draws to an end.
The pork shoulder now is tender and fit to present to a friend.
The pork is pulled, the slaw is dressed, the sauce is rendered sublime.
The lemonade is poured, the corn bread is cut, now come and let us dine.
Which activities make you lose track of time?
There are many things that I like, for which I take great care.
One activity that heightens my interest is pocket-watch repair.
The crown, knurled and knob-like is more than a pretty thing.
He sets the time, moving the hands, and winds the mainspring.
The mainspring stores the energy that drives the precision gear train.
The balance wheel oscillates, defining time intervals, as though the watch’s brain.
For me the work is subliminal, yet the watch commits a crime.
Though I give freely, that watch robs me of my time.
Our Irish Setter prefers marinara on rotini,
With sautéed yellow squash and zucchini.
Our Persian cat, on the other hand,
is finicky and will demand,
There be Alfredo on the Fettuccine!
I went to the city council meeting, they had one just the other day.
I was fired up, I was all about it, I had me something to say.
“Mr. Council President, to manage traffic there’s more than one approach.
But the way we do it now, was used for horse and coach.”
“Seems the lights at a certain intersection are causing great delay.”
Said he, “Mr. Citizen, we’ll handle this directly,
in a most roundabout way.”
The Ethereal Scupper 