Returning to my customary ways,
my normal paths and habits re-begun,
although I was away just 18 days,
I note the changed positions of the sun.
I tried to guard my nose from danger rays
before I left, but now I’m sensing none.
At 3 p.m. the western side’s in shade
as I traversing southward promenade.
A loud alarm at 3 a.m. aroused
500 guests and pushed us to the street.
Return was soon allowed, but no one drowsed
as deeply then – our rest was incomplete.
We traveled next to smashing, dashing feet
adjacent to our lodging. Unafraid
but stimulated, travel was replete
with pulsing light and siren serenade.
We visited 3 countries and a coast.
For 3 to 7 days we lived in each.
Amid fine foods and sights, what struck me most
was adults bending back and forth to teach
the children in their custody, to reach
and succor in all tongues, on paths and stairs,
on subways, trains, and planes. I soaked up speech
of human love and witnessed nurture’s airs.
As much as I disdain my nation’s acts,
as often as I wince and shake my head,
the truth is I was born here, and the facts
of my existence and my years have led
me to a love that blossoms with attacks
of chauvinistic consciousness instead
of critical dismay when I return,
no matter how delightful the sojourn.
As much as California brags of fruit
and vegetables, the produce that I find
in England, France, and Spain’s not destitute
of freshness, and the flavors all remind
me of the best. Their qualities refute
the reputation PR has us primed
to bandy like a folk tale – well received
and durable, but not to be believed.
Is there more variation in the ears
of people, than in any other trait?
The size or folds or lobe design appears
so individual they animate
the handled head, beframe and regulate
a visage pertinent and as unique
as fingerprint. Positioned not quite straight:
the labyrinth of flesh no one calls chic.
Repudiation is a lovely word.
It resonated in my head the while
I watched the charts on two news feeds, and heard
results that pushed my countenance to smile.
As optimism dawned fear slumped absurd,
and posture grew aligned in tall profile.
As if a plague has run its course and passed,
the future sparkles various and vast.
My phone said bitter orange, but I know
the origin of this persimmon tree.
A neighbor dug it in ten years ago,
and though its fruit has never tempted me,
I like its glossy leaves and pulpy glow,
and how in autumn its geometry
appears a rack with dangling ornaments,
and serves as host for squirrel tournaments.
When Cottage Club resumed on All Saints Day,
I didn’t carry candy with my gear.
I’d been for near two dozen days away,
but Halloween had made four bags appear.
Our cups were overfull, our snickers gay;
it’s like a payday only once a year.
The kids were smarties and our time was fine –
returning me to sweets of 5 and 9.
I’ll mute this blog for 20 days or so.
Before a streak becomes a bully pest,
I’ll pause the pen and so unpen a flow
of novel observation. I’ll invest
attention otherwise and come to know
environments as temporary guest.
My pack and too my feet will move perforce.
I hope to lever learning in my course.
 | sputterpub on On the Morning After |
 | Object Relations on On the Morning After |
| sputterpub on Old Haunt |
 | zumpoems on Old Haunt |
| sputterpub on Master of Destruction |
