To A.L.E.   Knucklehead angel, by all rights a man — you would choose your birthday. Gamer, wise-guy Socrates, renegade monk, also-ran, self-defeating conqueror — toss the dice that always come up snake eyes. Riverboat gambler, nobody’s fool and everybody’s, blunderbuss philosopher — you voted for chaos. Was it something in the blood? Something somebody said? Maybe the worn-out promises you made to yourself? Light jumper, uncharted wanderer, unfurled banner of a nation mad to be born, unbelieving penitent — you gave sight to the blind. Man, you could have saved the world.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont July 2019