The Fourth Time

Posted on December 28, 2022 by sputterpub

I kind of like it when I’m incorrect.
That path bisects a place where I can learn.
Initially, we neither could connect
but recently, when I had to return
to meet you as a client, I at first
disdained your arrogance just as before,
abhorred your attitude, thought you were cursed
like 20 years ago – affected sure.

By meeting number two I’d shown my work,
and you were then respectful, grateful too.
You met my eyes and acted less a jerk.
I then inclined to closer look at you.
You’re unattractive, but at meeting three,
you started being interesting to me.

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Pleasant Surprise

Posted on December 27, 2022 by sputterpub

I know I have a herniated disk.
My doctor told me 16 years ago.
He read the MRI and said I risk
a rupture if I fail to care just so.
And 50 years of phoning made a wreck
of infrastructure in my upper spine.
I’ve chronic issues with my aging neck,
and I’ve assumed the pain to bear was mine.

But then I started daily homely flex.
I took up morning yoga on my rug.
It humbled me at first, in some respects,
but I kept on, and now it’s like a drug
that seems to have eliminated aches
I formerly considered age’s stakes.

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What Comes with Crows

Posted on December 26, 2022 by sputterpub

Sometimes the bird shit is hard to ignore –
splats of bright white on the deck.
Waking this morning I paused at the door,
arrested by more than a speck.
A crow had released a catharsis before
I arose, but not long did it wreck
my vista. I doused it by watering can,
and now it’s reduced to a milky off-tan.

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Foolish Fortune

Posted on December 25, 2022 by sputterpub

The final jobs were finished yesterday,
resurfacing the bulk in front of me.
They hung the entry lights and the display
of house address and mostly, finally,
the box where mail is put for them and me.
Of course they chose all wrong: house numbers hard
to read; the box too high; lights stupidly
installed. But bad choice means their glare is barred.

(Huitain)

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Appointment Postponed

Posted on December 24, 2022 by sputterpub

On Tuesday morning she was so concerned
about a foster kid who’s 38,
she planned to see his doctor with him, yearned
to question protocols and advocate
for tests and facts – whatever could be learned.
By Thursday when he said he might be late,
her worry’d ebbed from catapult to shove.
Disquiet morphed to tough parental love.

(Ottava Rima)

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Kindergarten Art

Posted on December 23, 2022 by sputterpub

The artist worked in watercolor on
a pastel-rendered outline of balloon.
He used his favorite hue for what was drawn,
and backed it with good contrast. Afternoon
was picked to showcase artwork that would soon
be moved to home to quickly disappear.
So I’ll preserve his photograph, right here.

(Rhyme Royal)

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After an Early Task

Posted on December 22, 2022 by sputterpub

Exertion that’s required can produce
exquisite feeling after it is done.
I had to leave my home and put in use
commuting skills, too early to be fun.
My coffee I’d the tactic to reduce
(so bladder pressure ratcheted to none).
Two hours later I attained my nest –
with coffee and a fire, I’m unstressed.

(Ottava Rima)

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DMV Appointment

Posted on December 21, 2022 by sputterpub

Today I have to brave the DMV.
My license shows an expiration date
that’s coming soon. I have PTSD
from when I last endured their stink and wait.
But after this, I get a REAL ID
that’s good for years, according to the state.
My shopping’s done. I’m needing to remember
tomorrow I can start to love December.

(Ottava Rima)

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December in My Shed Office

Posted on December 20, 2022 by sputterpub

This month and next the temperature’s as low
as it will be all year, at my address.
It isn’t even freezing, but you know
we aren’t built to weather frostiness.
I use a wooden shed to store the mess
of paper, upright bike, and my PC.
And though my heater’s on and warm’s my dress,
the space is finger-numbing cold to me.

(Huitain)

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Encouraging Masks

Posted on December 19, 2022 by sputterpub

Does your mask despair?
The positive sign at BART
addresses that plight.

Posted in Coronaverse, Poetry, Transit | Tagged , | Leave a comment