You Do The Math!

rogueI’ve read that Bobby Orr waited 35 years after his final NHL game to write a hockey book! So, that game was in 1978. You do the math! hockey changes – Cherry hasn’t. He’s still living in a corner (No pun intended!) back in the 70’s Boston/Orr era. Don – ‘You’ don’t understand! Reminds me of reusing old metal and/or false topaz vs false toupee. This stretching of the years is somewhat like them stretchy strings of cheese you pull off the pizza with your teeth but they won’t let go, even after you stretch ’em down under one bared foot and back up to your chin. Taberduker! A “new voice” is often akin to cacophony vs melody, checkers vs chess, my vs thy, and/or Coffee-Coffee vs Coffee-Twice. Speaking of which, a FAQ (Frequently Asked Question) is, “Isn’t the village prettier at night with all them new lights up on Pill Hill?” Clearing the wires …! As Mama potato says, “It’s got your eyes!” Another FAQ, “How much local revenue is continually being lost by the Feds raising the shopping limit for citizens of the Dominion Of Canada [Suggested by Samuel L. Tilley (1818 – 1896) of N.B. from Psalm 72: 8 – “He shall have dominion also from sea to sea …”] heading to the Republic of the United States of America – with no explanation. At least, I haven’t heard of one! You do the math! A Deuce’s Deal …?
  
   

Deuce’s Deal

It was shortly after midnight
When I came across ‘Detour’
On a seldom traveled back-road
Where I’d never gone before,
I’d took an unplanned Exit
At an unmarked overpass
A full moon overlooked me
In a sky as clear as glass,
I couldn’t find it on my map
And I was running late
With a cargo that was classified
As “sticky-fingers” freight,
I knew I shouldn’t pull it
But my life was at an ebb
The easy money beckoned
And, I got caught up in the web,
Then something grabbed my senses
No longer all alone
On that godforsaken highway
And it creeped me to the bone,
A mystery truck came rushing
I braced against a crash
Then gasped in total horror
As it passed me in a flash,
A wicked 18-wheeler
And ‘Danger’ its placard
Destroying doubtful drifters
With ‘All Evil’ driving hard,
Temptations torment transport
Its horn a mournful wail,
Shifting gears and climbing
On a mission straight from hell,
I thought that I’d seen everything
Had hardened nerves of steel
But I caught myself, and cowered
T’was the devil at the wheel,
It was powered by pure passion
The engine made no noise
I tried to scream for mercy
But I couldn’t find my voice,
Each headlight was a cutting torch
That pierced eternal black
The hood was long and polished
Flames of fire from each stack,
This unit knew no diesel
Souls it’d swallowed filled each tank
He ran a real rogue logbook
Where every page was blank,
He had no bill of lading
For his infernal load
But I could smell the brimstone
And the vapors fairly glowed,
He hauled a “faker’s flatbed”
The tie-down straps were silk
The headache-rack was silver
Nothing earthly like its ilk,
Diamond-studded wheel-nuts
And trim of solid gold
A highway-tractor throwback
Both conventional – and old,
A phantom spectral trucker
In a ghostly astral “ride”
This “horse” was never registered
‘Deuce’s Deal’ on either side,
A reflection in the mirror
The likes of which we seldom see
Ghoulish, grayish, ghastly
And, I realized … it was me!

   D.C. Butterfield

The Greek ideal- a sound mind in a sound body! The geek ideal – an iMind in an iBody! Bimaculate – two spots! Immaculate – no spots! Life is like a picture – its “past” the second after its taken! Past, Toronto Maple Leafs season [Again!] – the usual signs of “puck struck” and “hockey hiccups”! PTSD and ADD as they curtsy out of the playoffs, with no Reim’er reason! All over but the why’ning and/or the whining! Like too, of John Paul Getty, “… one of the richest men who ever lived …!” And, the old song-line, “Money can’t buy back …!”
  
Have Pen – Will Write

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