Women and Men

Women like to have babies,
Men like their wars; 
Women like to cook and clean
Men love breaking laws

Women like their Facebook
Men like to watch the game
Women like to dress and shop
Men like things the same

Women like to be wanted and loved
It’s just as simple as that;
So how lucky can you get, Son;
You don’t wear the other hat

At least two Republican “lawmakers” have compared the Affordable Care Act (Obama Care, to you who have just returned from Mars), in a way that equates President Obama to Adolph Hitler and National Socialism. This, they say, because, “didn’t National Socialism (Nazism) start when the Nazis institute National Health Care“?. I care less whether these rattlesnakes want their constituents to have access to affordable health care. That’s their problem, and I assume those idiots that voted for you will do so again!

But, what you people are doing is burying, in crap, the people who saved this country 65 years ago. Yes. Like me; and more so like the more than 300 buddies I graduated High School with in 1942 that are buried in Europe or some Pacific Island, That you have the nerve to compare our service (mine was from March 1943 to September 1948) to a national law, a piece of legislation, and effort to get millions of people into doctors’ offices instead of half-staffed hospital emergency rooms, is a disgrace and the worst form of blasphemy

The fact that kids about ten and twelve years old read these pages, keeps me from calling you something more dramatic than “scum”, which is the very mildest description of what I really know you to be. You are wearing your closet racism all over your white shirts.

 The Corner of Medford and Sycamore  

    One corner of Medford and Sycamore.
    Had a broken down shack of a variety store;
    Luckies were two for a penny then;
    Thank God, I couldn’t buy many then;
    I’m almost glad I was poor!

    But, Somerville, Mass. was really a gas
    Before Hitler and Tojo showed up;
    Corners at twilight, bread was a nickel
    But the world was about to erupt.

    Across the street was the corner of choice,
    Where the nightly editions lay;
    THUD, off the back of a newspaper truck
    Quick! How’d the Sox due today?

    The cop on the corner of Medford and Sycamore
    Was a guy I remember so well
    We called him Officer Powers
     And he loved us kids, you could tell!

    The corner was always crowded
    At eight, and again at three;
    That’s when kids were coming and going
    To the Foster School, you see.

    Sometimes our policeman would put up his hand
    And ten cars would squeal to a stop
    While Officer Powers put some kid on his shoulder
    And crossed the street hippity-hop.

    About five, or six, as evenings got on
    It was the teens and guys time to boast;
    Sharing their day, talking about Foxx
    And this Williams kid, up from the coast

    What might  Louis  do to Schmeling?
    The next time these fighters met;
    Could Cronin turn the Sox around?
    The older guys said, you bet!”

    Did you see who took the sixth today?
    Some nag from upstate New York;
    Now, if the fix wasn’t in on that one;
    I’ll swim back to County Cork.

   Then one morning everything stopped
   It was Monday, in a cold December;
   Pearl Harbor had been bombed, the navy sunk
   Would the corner cry, guys get drunk?
   Someone said, “We’ll remember!”




   Every one of my guys on the corner
   Fought somewhere in a foreign land
   Half came back, half got killed
   Do the new guys understand?
 
.


   

The Realist Priest

    Father Casey said, “I’m getting tired”,
    Telling his dad his woes.
    “My Bishop says I could get fired
    Even my mistress knows”

    Well, if it’s only money, Mike
    I might have a good idea;
    Might even get you promoted;
    And get you out of here.

    That Sunday morning after Mass,
    Father Casey addressed his Clan:
    All parishioners would get Last Rites
    Early, on a monthly payment plan.

    Not only that, he went on to say,
    We can put a rider to the deal;
    With a guaranteed, pre-paid, burial
    In our own little lily field.

    Well, the Bishop showed up
    The following day
    And now Father Casey’s
     In Zimbab-ee-we