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I am not a pretender.

I solely jot words on paper

which makes it unnecessary

to call this literature.

Now, however, I do wish

that I more than a poetaster

could grasp the elusiveness of communication

and give you a thank-you

as large and bright as a Fourth of July sky.

But, I guess, at least I've tried.

-September 1975 at sea between the Philippines  and Japan

Written for a friend who I attended Journalism School with at Fort Benjamin Harrison and who was an Air Force journalist serving at Clark Air Force Base and with her Filipino husband (Venny) I visited while my ship was in port Subic Naval Base.

Venny asked me if I wanted to go to Manila.  So, he drove us along the two lane highway toward that goal.  Little other than farm fields with rice and other crops tended by farmers and water buffalo on either side.  We never got to Manila.

Every so often a country store.  You could tell it was a store since there was a Coca Cola sign in front.  I asked him to stop at one such store to buy us a couple Cokes.  They had no refrigeration.  So the young girl handed me two warm bottles of Coke.  I handed her a 20 peso bill, about $1.00 or $1.25 maybe, but she did not have money for change. Awkwardly, I fumbled in my pocket for Filipino coins.  To this day, I thought I should have just told her to keep the change.  The two Cokes cost about 12 cents each.

The bus ride in a Filipino bus to and from Subic to Clark was an experience as well.