Author, Gourmet Chef, and Ping Pong Champ!


January 31st, 2014 Evelyn Cole


We cruised along a winding country road

awed by fields nestled among hills

dressed in shades of green

soothed by the quiet of our lone car


when, rounding a corner, we came to a

dead stop behind a line of cars,

driver doors open. A large oak

lay across the suddenly full road.


A man announced that an oak tree

“just drank too much water, exploded,

 and fell across the street.

One guy’s gone after a chain saw.”


At the buzz of that saw, the fun began.

Ten or so men formed a team,

sawed and moved the oak off the road,

huge hunk by hunk.


These handsome, happy men were heroes.

The oak made their day!

It made mine, too,

watching, cheering.


Programmed to be heroes,

men accomplish amazing feats

from cat rescues to smart bombs.

They can’t help it.


Once, while driving with a girlfriend

and my four-year-old nephew,

a June bug flew into the car, buzzing wildly

I pulled over; we jumped out.


My nephew climbed into the front seat

caught the bug in his small hands.

“Okay, ladies” he said.

“You can get back in now.”


Years later he went to war

believing in it,

killed some June bugs

and current enemies.


I gave up expecting peace on earth.

Our heroes are

programmed to protect me

from predators


programmed by design,  

some say,

but is it intelligent, exuberant

or just plain tragic?





Written by Evelyn Cole

Evelyn Cole

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