9/10/15

A Previous Life
By Donal Mahoney


Sammy had been sitting in the bar for four hours drinking his usual gin and tonic, one drink after another, and even he would admit he was soused if he could put a sentence together. He didn’t have to talk, however, since he was the only customer left and there was an hour to go before closing. All he had to do was tap on the bar twice in front of his empty glass and the bartender would give him another drink. The service was wonderful.

Then two men in trench coats and fedoras walked in and sat down a few stools away from Sammy. They ordered a couple of beers. They seemed to be concerned about something and Sammy always liked to listen in on other people’s conversations.

“We need more room,” the big man said. “We can hardly take any more people. But they keep coming down and we can’t send them anywhere else. You would think we were Las Vegas and the drinks were free."

“Where will we get more room? We’re not talking real estate here,” the little fellow said. “No one thinks this place exists anyway. They think we’re a figment of someone’s imagination. New arrivals are always surprised.”

Then the big man said, “Oh, some people know we exist but they think we only get dictators and used car salesmen. The common belief is everyone else goes upstairs right away, provided there is an upstairs. More and more people think there may be nothing at the end.”

The little guy thought about that for a moment and said, “Well, I heard two women arguing the other day about where cats and dogs go. I know we don’t have any cats and dogs. Where would we put them? Pretty soon we’ll be getting Boomers. They’re a fussy bunch. We need more room now!”

Sammy didn’t know what to make of all of this. He wished he wasn’t drunk so he could join the conversation but all he could do was listen. The two men finally left and Sammy told himself he’d come back tomorrow night and ask the bartender who the hell those two guys were. Then he tapped on the bar twice in front of his empty glass.


- - -
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

7/9/15

A Previous Life
By Donal Mahoney


- -
It was their wedding night and Priya didn’t want to tell her new husband all about it but Bill kept asking where she had learned to walk like that. Finally she told him it was inherited from a previous life, a life she had lived many years ago in India, not far from Bangalore. She had been a cobra kept in a charmer’s basket.

When the charmer found a customer, usually a Brit or Yank, he would play his flute and Priya would uncoil and rise from the basket. Her hood would swell and she would sway as long as the customer had enough money to keep paying the charmer. She never tried to bite a customer but some of the men weren’t the nicest people in the world. You think they would know better than to tease a cobra.

Being a charmer's cobra was Priya’s job for many years until she finally grew weary of the tiny mice her keeper would feed her so she bit him and he died. His family had Priya decapitated but she was born again later in a small village, this time as a human, a baby girl. After she matured into a young woman, she had a walk, men said, reminiscent of a cobra's sway.

Priya told Bill she had been married many times in India, England and the United States but always to the wrong man. She would give the men time to correct their behavior but none did. As a result of their failure, she bit them with two little fangs inherited from her life as a cobra. They were hidden next to her incisors. Death was almost instantaneous.

No autopsies were ever performed. Death by natural causes was always the ruling. Priya, however, would move to another state or country before marrying again.

She told Bill she hoped he would be a good husband because she didn’t want to have to move again. She wanted to put down roots and have children. She was curious as to whether they would walk or crawl or maybe do both. But Bill had heard enough. He was already out of bed, had one leg in his tuxedo pants and soon was running down the hall of the 10th floor of the Four Seasons Hotel. He had his rented patent leather shoes in one hand and an umbrella in the other in case he ran into a monsoon.


- - -
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

10/23/14

The Button Workers
By Donal Mahoney


- -
Since the United Nations passed the Universal Right to Work Law in 2093, Skewer International has brought back from other planets thousands of migrant workers on its company spaceship.

On the last trip, Manfred, an interloper, somehow boarded the ship even though he lacks one of the prerequisites for a United Nations green card--namely, a button in his navel that can be turned off to prevent him from speaking.

The navel button is a requirement of companies on Earth for any interplanetary worker. Manfred talked incessantly while the company pilot flew from planet to planet taking on board hundreds of other migrant workers, all equipped with navel buttons. His job was to bring them back to Earth to work in potato fields all over the world.

"Manfred, will you please quiet down," Wally, the pilot, said. "You're keeping the others awake and it's tough on my concentration. There are lots of planets and I wouldn't want to land on one that has no workers waiting to get on board. I'd waste a lot of fuel taking off again."

"I'll do the best I can," Manfred said. "I never got a navel button like the others so it's hard for me to keep quiet. But I'm a darn good worker. All I want is a chance."

The United Nations' version of a "green card" allows migrants to work in any nation. Talkative Manfred is unaware that he will be sent home on the next spaceship that leaves Earth to pick up more workers. Once he has a navel button installed, he can apply again to come back to Earth for a job.

"No navel button, no job," Wally whispered to himself. "A long day's journey into plight."

In 2093, the demand for button workers continues to grow among farmers in the United States, Italy, China, Tajikistan, Moldova and Belarus. Other countries are expected to begin hiring them as well.

The workers are valued by institutional farmers because migrants don't complain about working conditions or low salaries the way domestic workers often do. And the button workers don't need health insurance or retirement benefits. If a button worker gets sick, he or she goes back to the home planet on the next spaceship. And when they are too old to work, it's back to the home planet as well.

"They're always surprised," Wally thought to himself, "when they get sick or old and home they go, the same way they came. It saves companies a lot of money. If they die in the fields, however, they're put on a company pyre. It's a cookout, as one manager calls it."

At the present time button workers, no matter the nation in which they work, do only one kind of labor. They plant and harvest Yukon Gold potatoes 12 hours a day. During their workday, they have their navel buttons turned on so they can say yes to the foremen on horses overseeing their work and giving directions.

"Let's get a move on" is typically what workers hear from foremen. And they respond by working faster. Domestic workers don't respond like that. They're apt to protest, maybe even picket. And pickets around the potato fields won't get the Yukon Golds planted or harvested. The button workers can be counted on to get the job done. They have no idea what "unions" were before legislation led to their disintegration.

At night, with their buttons turned off, the workers head back to their sheds for a bowl of cabbage soup before they bunk down for the night. Libations are limited to water. On Sundays, each worker gets two bowls of cabbage soup and a Pecan Sandy cookie.

Monday through Saturday, reveille sounds at 4 a.m. when the foremen on horses blow trumpets, ready to lead the button workers back to the fields.

"Let's go, you buttons," the foremen yell between blasts on their trumpets. "The potatoes are calling."

Research is under way at several universities to fabricate navel buttons for domestic workers who perhaps can then be hired to work in the fields. The media remains critical of industry because the unemployment rate is so high among domestic workers.

But, currently, domestic workers are not an attractive pool from which to seek new employees because of the tumult created for many years by fast-food workers seeking a living wage. Their wages have never gone up but the workers now get an extra sandwich for every 8 hours they work.

"Some of them are barely skilled enough," complained one company president, "to put a pickle slice on a hamburger, never mind adding condiments as well."

Industry predicts that eventually farmers from every nation on Earth will hire interplanetary button workers and that they will soon work in factories as well. Manufacturing jobs will then be brought back to the land of the free and the home of the button worker.

Stock Market savants say the Dow Jones average will rise dramatically as a result. What more could anyone want in a free market economy.


- - -
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

10/9/14

Changes Are Coming in 2085, the Senator Says
By Donal Mahoney


- -
It was the first time that senators had been asked to go home and address parent-teacher meetings at all the middle schools in their states. Each had been given a sheet of talking points to make the task easier. But Senator Stumpf found the task difficult inasmuch as he would have to speak at half the middle schools in his state while the other senator from his state addressed the other half. Both had to do their best to explain an executive order signed by the president on Labor Day, 2085. It would result in major changes in how people live.

Senator Stumpf chose to arrange his first middle school meeting in a small town in the rural part of his state. He thought that might be a good place to explain how wonderful this new program was. More than 300 parents were sitting in the gymnasium when he took the podium. Most of them were farmers, and they had worked hard that day.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Senator Stumpf began. "I am here to brief you on a new program that will take effect in all middle schools beginning this term. It's the happy result of an executive order just signed by our president. Additional details will be passed out later by your school principal."

So far so good, the senator thought. He took a sip of water, looked over the crowd and continued.

"Now that the 2014 Common Core educational program has kicked in and students everywhere are doing better in school, we are going to begin this year a new approach to preventing unwanted pregnancies in all middle schools. The benefits of this program will continue on into high school, college and even after that. In fact, once in place, this program will make certain there is never again an unwanted pregnancy in our great nation."

Some of the parents in the audience shuffled in their seats. This was a small town in the middle of a farm belt and unwanted pregnancies were not a topic of conversation. They happened, of course, but when they did, no problem. They could be taken care of free, thanks to the Affordable Care Act.

The senator noticed more shuffling in the audience but after taking another sip of water, he continued.

"This new approach will be far more effective than our current programs in sex education because we are still faced from time to time by unwanted pregnancies despite the national distribution of free condoms and other contraceptives as well as coast-to-coast access to no-cost abortion. What a great country we live in!

"Here's how the new program will work, according to the new executive order:

"At puberty all adolescents will receive mandatory free vasectomies and tubal ligations, after which conception will occur only in petri dishes. This will be made possible by using the many banks of ova and semen donated by the best and the brightest adults from past generations. Previous presidents, senators and representatives are among the donors. We have these banks all over the nation now. Although we can't see them, they are as common as silos in this part of our state. Your generation, we hope, will be the last one to have to reproduce the old-fashioned way."

There was mumbling now among the people in the seats. Many of them had enjoyed and saw no fault with reproducing the old-fashioned way.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am also happy to report that all donors to the Ova and Semen Bank Program will receive tax breaks for the rest of their natural lives as well as an extra week's vacation each year. Of course, as farmers you don't get any vacation, except maybe a few lighter days during the winter.

"And as an additional incentive to participate, should any of you in your senior years grow weary of life with the many illnesses that come with old age, you will not be charged anything should you choose to participate in our National Euthanasia Program. Just walk into your local People's Exit Zone--or have someone roll your gurney in--and you will be promptly taken care of. Your designated power-of-attorney will be able to pick up your ashes the next day. No charge. And you will be comfortable in a very nice urn. I showed one to my aunt and she was pleased to see where she was going. She didn't want to be a burden to us in her rust-belt years."

Senator Stumpf had a big selling job ahead of him. Since 2035, the National Euthanasia Program had been available in every state, but not one person in this community had ever applied for its benefits. Sick people still lived at home with family members or in one of two nursing homes on the outskirts of town. Most folks were still buried in the town cemetery although some of the ecologically concerned sometimes chose cremation.

The mumbling in the audience had begun to grow louder now and Senator Stumpf could not help but notice it. He nevertheless went on to explain the program as best he could. So far it had proven to be one of the toughest speeches he had ever given.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the president has promised that once this program is in effect, several advantages will be noticed immediately, especially by future generations of our young ladies. They will never again suffer from morning sickness or waddle around with protruding stomachs or have to wear unattractive maternity wear.

"What's more, they will no longer have to spend nine months pregnant. Every conception will occur in an approved petri dish and gestation will take place in one of the millions of new brooders designed for human fetuses. They are being manufactured now in a small town in Belarus. We're not talking here about one of the brooders used for poultry on your farms. These are top of the line appliances that will fit right next to your microwave at home.

"And marriage from now on will become optional. Since women will no longer be able to get pregnant, there will be one less reason to get married. A man and woman will be able to spend as much time together as they want but they won't have to spend years together rearing children. Adults will be free to do what they want when they want. What could be better than that?"

The mumbling in the audience had now grown to outright grumbling. One man in the back row stood up and hollered, "Go back to Washington, you doofus. What do you take us for? Hicks? Whoever heard of such a thing?"

There was no more water in Senator Stumpf's glass so he decided he'd hurry up and give the last few talking points and leave. He was glad now that he had parked his BMW in the back. This could turn out to be a rough crowd.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, one final note in closing: The terms 'father' and 'mother' will be eliminated from the vocabulary in our country once the new program is in place. Technically, there will be no more fathers and mothers--just donors, petri dishes and brooders. It will make life simpler not having to wonder who's your daddy as they used to say back in 2014.

"Parents will no longer be necessary. Children will be reared in community nurseries and later in adolescent homes staffed by specially trained people recruited from the long-term unemployed. New jobs by the millions will be created. And as a nation, we will finally have complete control over population growth. Don't believe that bunk that there's still lots of room in Wyoming. Maybe if you're a bison you'd want to live in Wyoming.

"In closing, I'd like to remind you, as our president reminded all of us senators when giving us this assignment, in our great nation all things are possible when in Democracy we trust."

The Senator had finished now and was headed toward the back door when two huge men in bib overalls and John Deere caps grabbed him by the back of his suit coat and led him into the Men's Room for a consultation with his constituents. The senator's hair got tousled in the process.

When the noise coming from the Men's Room reached a crescendo, the others in the audience quietly rose from their folding chairs and proceeded to walk out to the lobby, single file, and then silently into the night. There seemed to be an Amish solemnity to their deportment. Some of them couldn't remember voting for this senator. But they knew he was in good hands now. Butch and Bubba would be able to explain the facts of life to him.


- - -
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

8/21/14

Two Flying Saucers
By Donal Mahoney

- -
A flying saucer whirrs
through the kitchen air
almost hits him in the head

flies out the open window
followed by another saucer
sailed at him by her

angry that he's earthbound
can't take her to the moon
one more time tonight.

He's getting old, he tells her.
She should have come aboard
when he was 23 and flew

all night from star to star.
He ducks again and gasps,
"Once must now suffice."


- - -
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

12/12/13

Blinking Like Ferrets
By Donal Mahoney

- -
I've been too busy
the last two years to chat
with anyone in the office.
Today, however, I pause
at the pencil sharpener
while my co-workers
calculate and jot.
It makes no difference, you see,
if I remain silent until retirement
or if suddenly I start talking again.

All we must remember is
that we decay together,
that this charade
we give ourselves to
doesn't require that we speak,
that all we must do, really,
is calculate and jot.

If we calculate well,
if we jot well, the charade
will carry us through.
In the end, we'll see what is true
when blinking like ferrets
we emerge in sunlight,
gaping and gasping,
free of this maze created
by the family of man.


- - -
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

8/29/13

Pilots of the Dawn
By Donal Mahoney


We were pilots of the dawn, launched
from our mother's womb screaming,
flying higher than we ever dreamt.

We sought to navigate the sky
and make the sun our prisoner.
It was just a sinkhole in the path

of everything we had to do.
Now, many decades later,
we've done everything we can

and glide like gulls, aimlessly.
One by one, our planes plummet
back to Earth without a warning

while the rest of us are slowly
running out of fuel.
There's nothing we can do.

We flew for years to get things done
and now it's time to tally up our score
but that's not part of our assignment.


- - -
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.