Hula Hooping

Posted on March 21, 2021 by sputterpub

I lied to friends when I was 8 years old.
I claimed that I could spin without a drop
my hula hoop a million times. I told
them once and thought their eyes would pop,
but “no” they said, and then I didn’t stop
repeating my assertion, hearing “no”
thrice more before they said they had to go.

I figured they accepted my last “yes” –
they didn’t argue when they went away,
but something seemed a little off. I guess
that’s why I felt dissatisfied dismay.
They hadn’t looked convinced, but didn’t say
another “no.” I grew a little sad,
and took both claim and puzzle to my dad.

“A million times?” he questioned with a calm
affect, affection in his hazel eyes.
“How long,” he queried with an upturned palm,
“do you think it would take to count that high?”
The conversation filled me with surprise
and comprehension. So my conscience grew –
I learned a lie unmet is still untrue.

(Rhyme Royal)

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The Copycat

Posted on March 20, 2021 by sputterpub

I plagiarized a poem when I was 6,
I think – perhaps a little older then.
I wrote the first 4 lines and tried to fix
my poem by adding a quartet to them.
The words I stole were not as good as mine,
but stretched the piece to what I thought should be.
I showed it and my dad pronounced it fine,
which started a cascade of grief for me.

My loving folks asked questions and I balked.
I really couldn’t speak for 5 to 8.
They praised my work. They flattered and they talked
about my future, saying what was great
from child me would bloom as I mature.
It left me feeling awkward and impure.

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First Wisteria

Posted on March 19, 2021 by sputterpub

I saw my first wisteria Monday
at 9 a.m., in 46 degrees.
I shot a picture walking, on my way
to stock my pantry with some groceries.
The purple blossoms formed a scant array
but promised spring in Berkeley more than bees.
My own wisteria’s a west facade,
and needs more time to flower in my yard.

(Ottava Rima)

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Number 366

Posted on March 18, 2021 by sputterpub

So this is post three hundred sixty-six
(I feared the lockdown might last several weeks).
I didn’t know uncivil politics
would so beleaguer us the flu would thrive.
I’m used to home, and though the mask constricts
my wind, I’m walking outside anyway.
While vaccination may not mean a fix,
I’m starting to revert to old techniques.
But I’ll keep posting daily, for these kicks.

(Magic 9)

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A Medical Catalog

Posted on March 17, 2021 by sputterpub

I got my second shot, but she did not –
they took one look and her and said “Not now.”
Her eyes were swollen shut, her skin was hot;
her doctor doesn’t know the why or how.

A client died of Covid – he seemed well
until he wasn’t. Doctors couldn’t block
the dread cascade of organ failure hell
(he wasn’t old or ill – we’re still in shock).

My children’s dad has problems with his heart
that brought an ambulance, some tests, a scan,
and soon the surgeon’s knife. He’s still a part
of family – we care about the man.

But topping all the news of pain and death,
we celebrate a baby drawing breath.

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Use It or Lose It

Posted on March 16, 2021 by sputterpub

The dentist asked me how I’d travel home.
“I walk.” “Up Market Street?” He looked aghast.
But I’ve been walking all my life. I roam
the streets to work or shop. My pace is fast
and purposeful – I look and use my ears,
and though I’ve seen and heard some off-their-meds
or heads, in truth, in over 50 years,
I met no threat to make me stop my treads.

The muggings are reported in the news
as happening in areas of wealth.
The streets are safer where more people choose
to walk, so pace for several sorts of health.
Catalysis by fear exacts a cost –
If we stay in, our culture will be lost.

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Displacement

Posted on March 15, 2021 by sputterpub

Away and off five days feels like a week
or more, although I’d never opt for home
when Sam requires company, to speak
a bit about big change but mostly play
together, as he teaches his technique
for screening semi-terrible cartoons
(at least it isn’t Elmo). Now we peek
at newborn sis. I pen a paltry poem,
and bend to stroke and kiss a silken cheek.

(Magic 9)

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Returning

Posted on March 14, 2021 by sputterpub

Precious to return
home, no matter the reason
for time spent away.

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Anniversary Villanelle

Posted on March 13, 2021 by sputterpub

When we began this fractious quarantine,
I feared sequester might exceed three weeks.
I never dreamed how plague would intervene.

Our fate was like a busted trampoline –
we tolerated broken springs and squeaks
when we began this fractious quarantine.

Some fell and others stumbled, caught between
conspiring fears and factual techniques.
I never dreamed how plague would intervene.

Politicizing masks and spitting mean,
we didn’t know our fellows could be freaks,
when we began this fractious quarantine.

Some reasoned but so many were unclean,
ignoring soap because the soapbox speaks.
I never dreamed how plague would intervene.

It’s near a year, and still we all careen.
We’ve fallen and no longer see the peaks.
When we began this fractious quarantine,
I never dreamed how plague would intervene.

(Villanelle)

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My Second Shot

Posted on March 12, 2021 by sputterpub

My second shot, I’m fortunate to write,
was painless and no hassle to obtain.
The venue wasn’t crowded and the chain
of volunteers was organized and tight,
directing us with smiles masked but bright,
conducting an inoculation train –
my second shot.

My arm is sore, I’m tired, I feel light
in energy. It’s nothing to complain
about – a grumble wouldn’t be germane
or accurate. My age meant expedite
my second shot.

(Rondine)

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