The Keyhole

Posted on July 20, 2020 by sputterpub

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He has a walk-through bedroom, in between
his parents’ and the kitchen’s narrow end.
(Their flat is old – Victorian or Queen
Anne modified to serve the housing trend).
The woodwork is original – the doors
have panels, knobs and holes for vintage keys.
I follow Sam around when he explores –
he’s 3 years old and tells me what he sees.

It’s normal that he’s nervous in his bed
alone at night – of course he’s vigilant.
Examining his walls and doors instead
of sleeping, one keyhole’s an instrument
for checking on his folks’ activities.
He says he’d like a bigger keyhole, please.

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PseudoStops

Posted on July 19, 2020 by sputterpub

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I seldom see the good in boundaries;
I tend to play at work and work at play.
I set a goal, approach it by degrees,
but when it’s reached it doesn’t go away.
Some friends I love and honor lack the heart
to set the time for new, and make a start.
While I initiate unlike those friends,
I seem to have an issue seeing ends.

I didn’t close affairs – I tried to change
them, but my lovers always disagreed.
I quit tobacco but did not impede
my social hits. And now it’s nothing strange
that my retirement did not proceed
in full. There’s still some worth in work I need.

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Generating

Posted on July 18, 2020 by sputterpub

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I feel I owe the kids apology:
we meant to change the world in ‘68.
Somehow my cohort lost its energy;
we settled in for goods instead of great.
Apparently the time was wrong for us.
We marched and rioted, kicked up our fuss,
but half a century has lapsed and still,
the jury’s out about our civic will.

My dears, your anger’s earned. Your rage should heat
the beaker of our culture even more
than we did, booming, bragging, cocky, sure
our numbers and our vigor would unseat
the emperors. But we were kids, and you’re
up now, at 38 and 44.

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Mask Etiquette

Posted on July 17, 2020 by sputterpub

Masks

I know the weakest link defines the chain,
in terms of strength (and what’s of more import
than hold if chains are judged?) The links will strain
when pull’s applied, until the poor falls short.
Just so, as we now start to socialize,
developing our distance protocols
and meeting out of doors, we organize
our separate plates and places, and it falls
to whom is the most cautious, careful guest,
to set the masking manners for the rest.

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Resealed

Posted on July 16, 2020 by sputterpub

Resealed

Too humid to dry
the redwood deck I resealed:
our normal July.

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To Sleep

Posted on July 15, 2020 by sputterpub

nightsleep

I think I like to sleep, but I’m not there
to judge; it’s only as I start to fall
to slumber, that I’m comfortably aware
my latest thoughts are what I can’t recall.
As I relax, I set my hands to rest;
I still my feet and respiration slows.
When I’m about to be by sleep possessed,
I cannot sense my parts with eyelids closed.

If sleep’s a little death, then let my death
approach like the transition into sleep.
Allow me not to track, near my last breath,
whatever thoughts I vainly thought I’d keep.
And let me lose my old extremities,
with digits stilled in sinking memories.

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War on Entropy

Posted on July 14, 2020 by sputterpub

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When I say I love order, I don’t mean
I value lines or uniforms or rules.
(I’d be an anarchist, except that scene
has been usurped by weapon-toting fools.)
Obedience has never been my route –
impatience my persistent quality;
I’m not submissive. But my life’s pursuit
appears to be a war on entropy.

Detesting chaos and disdaining murk
have grown to be my attitude and stance.
I advocate for clarity – my work
is organizing information. Chance
is charming in a game, but don’t abide
disorder – that abets the other side.

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It’s Not Too Late (Rondine)

Posted on July 13, 2020 by sputterpub

flag[1]

It’s not too late to tackle this disease,
that triggers inflammation causing more
compounding symptoms, circumventing sure
analysis, prodigious in degrees
of insult – manifest debilities –
while experts scavenge blindly for a cure.
It’s not too late.

As soon as each (e pluribus) agrees
to (unum) act together and mature,
to don a mask as courtesy, endure
some time alone, we’ll save communities.
It’s not too late.

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To Mom, My Aunts, and My Girlfriends

Posted on July 12, 2020 by sputterpub

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I loved heroic tales when I was small,
relating some to princesses, but more
to youngest sons and cabin boys and all
the challenges encountered. That was pure
enchantment for me, so I learned their ways:
the kindness to each lowly creature met;
adherence to the quest despite delays
and obstacles, through every sort of threat.

With fairy tales and Greek mythology
and legends of romantic errantry
I filled my fancy and I fed my head.
I even longed to be a boy instead.
I’d feint before I’d faint. I’d never swoon,
and unlike you, I still don’t give up soon.

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Threatless

Posted on July 11, 2020 by sputterpub

Threatless

(A Pre-Covid Piece)

Commuting yesterday, at nearly noon,
I noticed I felt free and oddly fine.
I focused on surroundings then, and soon
observed that every vista seemed benign.
Though weather’s weird, the air was warm and clear.
Though politics are dire, I’d no fret.
Nobody smelled too bad or stood too near
me on the street and train. I felt no threat.

It isn’t that I’m normally afraid
of where I walk, or whom I chance to meet,
but yesterday’s experiences made
me realize how much guarded on my feet
I am, how when outside I’m on alert.
I traveled with no threat or fear of hurt.

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