Do you have time? Does he or she? Do they?
The answer from us all is yes, we do.
No longer are we bored like kids, the way
we were when days were long. Although it’s true
our phones are ever beckoning our view
(there seem no gaps to try on other roles),
we all have time to walk. Unwind this clue,
and spend some moments feeding heart and soles.
One friend asserts life’s issues all work out.
Another claims she ever tried her best.
I’m skeptical with each: sincerely doubt
the first is right, and all who knew her guessed
the second might have harkened to behest
of child, and put selfishness aside.
The fates are subtle – each might have confessed,
and then gone forth as if no hands were tied.
I always thought an outline was the start
of any well-intended work of prose.
But nothing organized became a part
of paragraphs I ventured to compose
two months ago, and weekdaily. I chose
instead to draft in pieces what I aimed
to say. Now look what gradually arose:
a list or map that might be outline-named.
I like the weather where I live so much,
I may not ever relocate. This place
has temperate temperature and totes the touch
of ocean in the air. The feel of space
around me when I walk about is such
a soft caress it elevates my pace.
Today the sky’s so lovely I could swoon,
while strolling on a Wednesday afternoon.
Envisioning my arms as stable wires,
from palm to shoulder reinforcing spine,
taut guys supporting any disc that tires,
so I’m erect like sailboat mast or pine,
I cup my knees to angle what aspires,
and meditative posture becomes mine.
Hypotenusing upper limbs, I guide
my neck and cranium toward heaven’s side.
Like Knightley said to Emma once or twice,
in other words I stated “badly done”
about behavior no one’s deeming nice,
and saw cascading tears begin to run
down cheeks designed to smile. Sacrifice
of comfort and approval wasn’t fun
but had to be, to let respect advance,
and give sincere apology a chance.
Prohibiting a pet is not allowed,
although the ban is in our documents.
The drafter sought avoidance of a loud
condition, to protect inhabitants.
The newest member of this residence
comes with a roommate, gentle, on all fours.
She’s out right now – by man and dog intents?
Of course – she had to exit through two doors.
It’s over now, or will be in a day.
The earth must rotate one more time. That’s how
to drop the curtain on our passion’s play.
It’s over now.
From drama unintentional they bow.
Misunderstanding led them to portray
themselves as selfish, and to disavow
an obligation freely taken, say
too much and excavate a furrowed brow.
Regret was voiced but soreness had its way.
It’s over now.
I seek the happy medium between
a body rid of fat I didn’t want,
and slenderness at this age come to mean
I feel so many bones I may look gaunt.
Inhabiting the geriatric scene,
my public dancing’s passed and I won’t flaunt
(in truth I never did). I’d like to find
the happy medium I have in mind.
I think the situation’s been resolved,
though feelings in some parties may be sore
awhile yet. What’s hopefully evolved
are attitudes that don’t close any door.
By statements made we’re understanding more.
By hugs exchanged is mute forgiveness set.
Some courage and humility restore
an equanimity. We’ll not forget.
 | sputterpub on About Mom, With Love |
 | groomie on About Mom, With Love |
| sputterpub on No Blocks |
 | Caleb Cheruiyot on No Blocks |
| sputterpub on For Now |
Sputterpub's Blog 