Now there are two pneumatic dragons where
I wait to board the bus for home. My view
comprised a solo monster filled with air.
Now there are two.
I’ve never been inside the store, that’s true,
and bend away from such, but as a lair
for cute I use these lines to pay them due
attention and appreciate the care
a merchant grants to walkers-by. We’re few
compared to cars, but grateful and aware
now there are two.
Deliberately I walked a longer route,
and shopped before embarking on the train.
My need for exercise became acute
and happily I added steps. No pain
was dogging me and yes, my aging brain
receives from ambulation benefit.
At night I’ll run TV to entertain,
but afternoon outside’s appropriate.
Before the stores adopted scanning ways,
when customers used cash, it wasn’t strange
to see employees ring the price one pays
and be adept at calculating change.
And as for bagging purchases these days,
I’d have you note I walked, and so arrange
the items for my pack. I wish you’d stop:
no avocados low or eggs on top.
I thought I tucked my phone back in my bag.
I crossed the street and then I heard a thunk.
It’s luck I turned. It would have been a drag
to miss that phone on sidewalk. I’d be sunk
if I wore earbuds, or a part had cracked
three steps before on roadway. Then last night,
I moved too fast at home, and it’s a fact
that foot slam on hard furniture’d be quite
an injury. But seldom as I’m shod
inside, I happened to be feeling cold,
so maybe wearing slippers wasn’t odd,
but I was fur-encased and rubber-soled.
As often as I note things gone amiss,
I’ll spend a moment now in grateful bliss.
Inspired by the outside solar light,
still on at 5 am, amid tall weeds,
and knowing I’d the cart to haul, despite
agreement with the neighbors, what succeeds
is topping off the compost bin with seeds
and stems and leaves of rangy volunteers,
and wheeling to the curb as much as needs
removal now, before the sun appears.
Perhaps it’s that I push myself when out,
eschewing bus to walk in weighted vest,
indulging family, but there’s no doubt
the place I long to be, the chosen best,
is in my little house, where I’m undressed
and solitary, working on a poem,
reclining, reading, resting, and unstressed:
I’m always happiest when heading home.
They charged my card before they shipped to me
the earrings they’d expected in two days,
and then deferred receipt, apparently,
but never notified me so. Their ways
have worsened. Though I waited patiently,
I had to call for status (and repays).
Five years ago the vendor had some style,
but now their custom’s edging into vile.
There used to be a skating rink downtown,
and industry on what would be our Main
Street if no one had named it for renown
historical, which now has no refrain.
There used to be some vibrancy, but brown
and gray are waxing as the pigments wane.
The avenue’s a microcosmic ill,
betokening a broader lack of will.
At nearly 3 pm, as one can see,
I aimed my vision heavenward, because
on ground were graduates and family,
and further out was myriad with flaws
of government and personality,
of characters without a moral clause.
Immediate appeared to me a wreck,
so I looked up while cradling my neck.
To meditation I directed me
the morning that I had to leave by 9.
I skipped the bike and set myself to be
an early walker, opting to assign
a meditation for humility.
And knowing I’d spend quite a chunk of time
awaiting eye dilation, I could see
no other use for dimness and a chair
than conscious breathing while I’m sitting there.
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