Four days ago, my youngest turned 45.
Presently, we live some 500 miles apart,
But have great conversations by phone.
Several months ago, he said, "Pop, how
Does it feel to be 76"? My reply went
Something like this:
I can see and hear very well. I feel good,
And my sleep is great. My memory is a
Cut above. I've lost a few, but my teeth
Are real. My weight is in good order,
And I'm a firm believer in vitamins.
I have had a pacemaker for my heart
Since 2015. I have more than enough
Energy. Each day, I take a heart pill,
An aspirin, multiple vitamins, and extra
Vitamin C.
And lastly, I said to my son who calls me
Pop, "I can walk a lot but please don't
Make me run."
D.J.'s Café was full of laughter and people after the game
most wore our school colors of red and white
there were two purple and gold shirts
the waitress seated them in a small table next to swinging doors
we were all talking and laughing,
there was much bragging
our kids had decimated the other team
we might win the state championship
one of the purple and gold shirts got up.
Walked to the juke box and began playing jazz music
we are not a jazz-loving bunch
in this town it is country or nothing at all
a few of us turned to glare at the interloper
we wanted him to know our disgust
Old Charlie Smith did us one better.
He took out his gun and shot the juke box
The purple and golds left in good order.
There was clapping as they left
If we are one thing in this town,
it is bad sports.
Weekends are a little like
Bookends
They stop you falling
Or lolling too far over
So you don't appear untidy or
At least not so
Uncomfortable
They keep you straight
Give you
Purpose
Show you in your best
Posture
Vertical spine
Keeps you looking fine
Without life's bookends
We just become
Untidy
Unrested and sometimes
Unread
What a shame
When people stay closed
So thank you
Weekends
For keeping us
Perky and
In good order
Perhaps an enthusiast will
Choose to engage with
Our words of wisdom
Adventure
Poetry
Simply because
We appeared at our best
D ug it out from under the stairs,
I knew it would be useful someday.
S aving it I was for future repairs,
C huffed I never threw it away.
A ll in good order as good as new,
R atchets and spindles all spinning.
D amned if I know what it used to do,
E minently too good for binning.
D on't care what the missus might say,
...........I'm keeping this sucker for a rainy day.
Here in my rented acre of Ohio;
I feel the generations,
the hungarians, the irish and germans,
the dutch, the blacks, the shawnee.
We are not a melting pot,
we are birds and critters brought here
by wild, wild winds.
I am a grackle
with my own grackle language,
I expect you who live in the same tree with me
have your own way
of making a home in this land.
Heartland is the root we share,
The root is lazy days in PJ’s.
Hectic mini-van school runs,
sweats for Walmart and yelling at stuff.
One or two ties for special occasions.
Most of us are not so poor or not so rich.
We don’t love our guns,
we simply keep them in good order
in case those who don’t understand
want to mess with what we have earned.
My neighbor is a mourning dove,
Her son is a possum that loves to play
video games from dawn to dusk.
My pal is a rooster, a gnarly-handed poet,
don’t ask him to write anything
he might think those fighting words.
I like being a grackle, but I married an anhinga
from Florida.
She is adjusting.
I wake and you are beside me sleeping
Breathing heavily, labouring with each breath.
Your illness masking your fragility.
I pause to gently kiss your forehead.
Your garden is overgrown with unplaced
Flowers. Dreams unfulfilled are but weeds
Covering the daffodils and crocuses.
An early breeze blowing the long grass.
The wind dissolves gently amongst your
Early morning dreams as you gently wake
Looking like the first daffodil in spring.
The veil of night shattered as light drifts
In through the blinds creating shadows.
You are inside my head now, calculating
The tablets you need to keep you alive
Keeping the garden in good order until
Summer brightens your sky.
Mar 2012
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