I start each day with mugs of coffee still.
I’m old, but it does not upset my gut.
My hand may quiver some, but I don’t spill
the liquids I convey. I’m happy, but
three times a year or so I have to still
the caffeine habit. I don’t get the what
or why, but fasting draw’s the protocol,
and headache brews to stymie morning scrawl.
The neighbor hung a feeder from his eave,
two storeys up and half a yard away.
He’s thoughtful and had reason to believe
no quadrupeds would dine on the array
of seeds and millet, yet our critters thieve
gymnastically. I heard the skritch today,
and looked up from my pruning task to view
a vandal snacking upside down, mid-chew.
I’m not sure that they loved the end result –
my rugelach is rich instead of sweet,
appealing more to taste that’s grown adult.
But kneading dough together was a treat,
their cream cheese butter fingers almost neat,
their questions and their consciousness employed.
The parents took in more than we could eat,
but true success is process well-enjoyed.
The lunch that I looked forward to was great:
good company, cool ambiance and food
so tasty I loved every bite I ate.
I after Muni’d west in lovely mood,
and just as fun as I’d anticipate
was baking with the grandkids. Gratitude
was brimming, but at home things went askew:
a broken main – no water until 2.
It’s probable that I have ducked his cold.
I saw him three days after symptoms reared.
I didn’t wear a mask but didn’t hold
him in a sibling hug, and when he neared
I tried to sit at distance. I controlled
affection but concern of course appeared.
Three days have passed, he’s mending, and I’m free
of signs his bug is colonizing me.
Awakening at dawn or just before,
I limp in hip and creak in stretching back.
No tragedy – a decade past three score,
I’m fortunate to duck a worse attack.
Two hours later, coffee-fueled and done
with daily puzzles, news, and writing time,
I bike and do some yoga, having fun
and feeling circa noon I’m in my prime.
By 3 pm, the slide to nap begins.
My stamina forsakes me, and I fade
to where I can misplace word origins
and marvel at the things I morning-made.
I don’t give up – I’ve evening yet, to choose
some cinema through which I’m bound to snooze.
For one who worried young on wasting time,
she seems to have too much of leisure now.
The afternoons she longed for in her prime,
available four days a week, allow
fair interlude for crafting prose and rhyme,
enrolling in a program of know-how…
But such would tap a stamina that bled
while she was made to multitask instead.
I fell into the news morass last night.
About to stream, I network-paused and saw
the devastating fires. Then my sight
was taken by the despot twisting law
again – no taste, surprise, not wise, not right.
I flashed to Ozymandias and Musk.
I sobered and I grieved, too sad to fight,
and sat through corny films an arid husk.
Proceeding southward on my block, I crossed
the intersecting street ahead of two
young women turning right behind me, lost
in talk I heeded as I led them through
a second right turn. Now a thought I tossed
was they were pacing squarely, like some do
when killing time. Before the final veer,
their Adderall uptakes I got to hear.
Arriving home at nearly noon, I read
a text that set our call for half past one.
Six hours earlier I rose from bed
(that’s not my own). Now me-time has begun.
I’ve aimed attention to my care instead
of any outer task. My bath is run,
and after soft immersion and a peel,
I’ll settle in to eat my favorite meal.
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