The Past

Who are the passed? What did they know?
What paths were trod? Who friend and foe?
Cro-Magnon Man – his wife? His kids?
A few dried bones, through which he lives.

I write my books in yesterday
Old bones care not the words I say
‘Cro-Magnon Man did this and that’
Is really ‘now’ in early hat.

But if I set in history
Folks get upset if it's just ‘me’;
But who's to say – myths that survive
Are made by those who stayed alive.

My lifelong task: “In history
Hold up the best for all to see”;
We work from shards in midden heaps
And fill the gaps with thought-full leaps.

Like joke – “A northern trapper died
His furnace hung up high inside;
One said, ‘He curled beneath, like pup;’
One said, ‘'tis coals, high, lifted up’ –

But engineer just laughed and said,
‘His chimney short – wired high instead!’
When others read some story mine
Perhaps they'll spin their view sublime.

For even we who live today
Six versions spin of six at play;
'Tis even more of game last year
Midst those who reminisce on beer.

When culture’s walls are factored in
Our blindness yields much greater spin;
So who's to know – so dry each fact –
Spun stories bring the sizzle back.

While working for the TV news
Reporter’s story raised the brews
In toast for segment of the week;
Our stories just could not compete:

The crowning shot, one interview,
With raging flood there in the view,
A teary mom who'd lost it all,
Held little kid and puppy small.

For news was entertainment’s hour
Like days of old – night-stories’ power
To captivate as campfires warmed
Our yarns of heroes, wars, and storms.

But daily on the cutting floor
My clips of film were cut some more;
Whole stories tossed when time was tight;
If shown, was trashed at end of night

I gagged – saw record of our past
Slip to the wind as so much trash.
“We are not an archive, there's no room,
Tomorrow's stories pour in soon”.

Now electronic files are key
To later views of history;
But when they dig our garbage pits
What view of life they'll have of it.

Take ‘Boomer life’ – baloney myth –
I'd lived it out, quite silly it;
So, spin your tale, enjoy the jest –
It soon will fade, like all the rest.

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