The Backstory

Posted on November 24, 2020 by sputterpub

A business partner did me wrong and sued
(this happened 20 years ago, or so).
I burned to tell the story – not to brood
but more, I thought, to let my lawyer know
exactly what led up to the betrayal.
“Please write the whole thing down,” he said to me.
I did. I sent a narrative email
and left him to develop strategy.

The next time we conferred, I was surprised.
“You got my email?” “Sure,” he voiced, although
“What did you think?” received as his reply
“I didn’t read it,” and he chuckled low.
“You didn’t write those words for me,” he said.
“The exercise was all for you, instead.”

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Hair and Poetry

Posted on November 23, 2020 by sputterpub

When house arrest began, eight months ago,
I set myself a challenge – I would write
a poem to post each day. I didn’t know
(who did?) how long and weaponless the fight
would be, contagious ignorance the foe,
and never planned to never cut my hair.
But I’ve had time to watch each tendril grow,
and bought barrettes and clips and bands to wear.

I figured I would see where growing went
(salons were closed and shoulder injury
beset my stylist anyway). I’ve spent
eight months in growing hair and poetry,
and I’ll admit I’m liking both so far –
they’re positives in living gone bizarre.

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TG Day Plan

Posted on November 22, 2020 by sputterpub

The last two years we’ve brought Thanksgiving fare
to Portland for that branch of family.
But they’ve requested we not visit there,
protecting compromised immunity.
And then our aged mother asked we spare
her risk of sick from love’s proximity.
We hear and understand. We think it wise
to scale the feasting down to bubble size.

(Ottava Rima)

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Overdue for a Checkup

Posted on November 21, 2020 by sputterpub

Incessant sniffles don’t appear to be
a sign of Covid – they predate this year:
A symptom of old age, apparently,
as membranes dry and mucus tries to clear
reactive channels. Used to never sneeze,
I’m unaccustomed to cascades of snot.
I don’t think I have any allergies,
but something triggers tissue needs, a lot.

The left side of my neck is daily sore
(or maybe that’s a problem in my throat).
My shoulders lately bother me, and more –
I bruise from little taps. The antidote
is probably a second childhood,
but that’s impossible. I’m old for good.

Posted in Aging, Coronaverse, Health, Poetry | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Our Sweethearts

Posted on November 20, 2020 by sputterpub

My family is mostly male, and yet
includes no evidence of gross assault
or rape, or coarse behavior to forget.
What tension we perpetuate’s the fault
of neither sex. The girls exhibit more
bad moods, more snits and flouncing tendencies.
The boys are strong and masculine for sure
(and handsome too), but gentle as we please.

I read of brutes sometimes and know the plots
of movies, books, and news, but all the men
we launch are fair in attitude and mind.
I’m sorry that our culture’s filled with clots
of misbehavior, wondering again
how one could raise a beast from sweet mankind.

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Booster

Posted on November 19, 2020 by sputterpub

Eight months ago, when house arrest began,
I tried to learn to only touch my face
at home alone and clean. My hygiene plan
involved increasing time inside my place,
enduring masking when around a man
or woman I don’t know, and no embrace
beyond my little bubble. That was then.
I’ve lately lapsed, and touch my face again.

(Ottava Rima)

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Yay for the Blue Team

Posted on November 18, 2020 by sputterpub

Like any proper toddler, he wants clear
distinctions: black & white and solid lines.
Our task as guides is showing him our sphere
is not that neat. Existence intertwines,
and boundaries are artificial walls.
Maturing means we live with shades of gray.
Accepting rites, obeying protocols,
make pageants while they shoo the truth away.

But recently, when cheering for the team
(“Yay Blue!” he danced, with three relieved adults),
he asked me why we’re glad, his face agleam.
And I was pleased to summarize results –
We had a bad man for our president.
We fired him for good. That’s what it meant.

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‘Lection Lessons

Posted on November 17, 2020 by sputterpub

I felt so humbled as I watched returns,
accepting that I hadn’t any clue
to how the half who voted for him work.
I’ve failed to feel and write someone who spurns
the facts for magic thinking, and the true
for Puritan simplistic blue-law murk.

I felt uneasy as I watched results –
anxiety and flashbacks roiled me:
my neck compressed, my innards seemed to twist.
Enduring hours of unsteady pulse,
I told myself with aging certainty:
“I won’t be sick,” relaxing gut and fist.

I’ll need more time if I’m to understand.
I’ll guard my health till then with self-command.

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Irrelevant

Posted on November 16, 2020 by sputterpub

Irrelevant is how he’s been to me,
a would-be bully powered on hot air.
He’s had four years of free publicity
while wasting us. Nobody now should care
about the raves, his lies, conspiracy,
or any argument for playing fair.
Please join me in ignoring him as well,
abandoned to a tantrum in his cell.

(Ottava Rima)

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BDTR

Posted on November 15, 2020 by sputterpub

Remember Better Dead Than Red?
We used to hear the line a lot
when we were young and war was not,
when Communism pulled ahead
and battles waged were Cold instead.
Well that was long ago. The Wall
is gone. Some thought we’d won it all,
but now that states are Red or Blue,
and folks and businesses have hue,
it seems to me that reds appall.

(Decima)

Posted in Civics, Personality, Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment