Yes, This Day Is Done
Yes, This Day Is Done
In the corner of the deck unseen,
An old lady with a floppy straw hat,
Tired, arthritic, reads in afternoon's cool,
And listens for the dogs.
For first there is a hum on the roads,
Then one by one, a bark appears,
As the business folks throw off their burdens,
And let their Rovers and Butch’s out to play.
Then there is an assembly of voices,
A choir of happy canines,
Meeting each over unseen over fences,
But friends of the evening just the same.
Then the old woman dozes from her book
As the sun falls orange and purple,
Remembering cubicles, telephones,
A thousand computers clacking.
Coffee breaks and sneaking out for Snickers,
The smell of the smokers close in some alcove,
Papers bound, dispatched couriers carrying cases
Intense, concentrating.
Each of millions of secrets - each’s dreams or thoughts,
A remembered movie, a kiss, baseball in the park,
Hot dogs, wheel chairs, a red car,
Babies, coats, bills, shoes wafted on barbecue smoke.
And the old lady in the corner of the deck
Blending into the walls as pots of flowers
In her mumu, dozing, remembering, being “in on the bustle”
Contentedly pulling the brim over her face and dreams
Free to dream of ocean splashes and freckled face boys,
Of roaming through pansies and periwinkles,
Humming her “their” favorite song,
Free, retired
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