Increasing weekly walking quite a bit
of late, but always with an end in mind,
like getting to a place appropriate
for family or labor or the kind
of groceries I savor and think fit
for purposes to which I’m strong-inclined,
my path is often varied purposely.
And sundry sights are entertaining me.
I waited 60 days to take a seat
and ask an expert questions I possessed;
his specialty is swamped by a complete
disruption of nutrition, he’ll attest.
I liked him and respect his skill, but guessed
correctly he’d recite the standard care.
So while I’m willing to endure a test,
I doubt this course will get me anywhere.
A bit concerned about last night’s report –
her cracking voice, fatigue so evident,
a mess she tried to clean of vile sort –
and knowing that I have no precedent
for how the 99-year olds comport
themselves (without a time line prevalent),
I carried tender feelings to my rest,
and hope by gentle passage she’ll be blessed.
What harm’s it do, imagining a plot
that justifies the actions of the few
I’m contemplating? Whether fact or not,
what harm’s it do?
I planned to write about the things I knew,
but such did not enchant – so I forgot
that tactic and decided I’d imbue
the characters I hear of with a shot
of probability. Their acts I view
as driven by a circumstantial lot.
What harm’s it do?
Can she be indolent? If it’s a skill,
she may need time to find her expertise.
Since seventeen the girl’s derived a thrill
from countering her mother’s harsh decrees
of selfishness and laziness. Her will
has led to diligent activities
that now appear a form of O.C.D.
To idleness she’ll put her energy.
Is this bad journalism, or contempt
for every reader? Someone okayed “hype”
to end a headline, like they were exempt
from objectivity. Of course I gripe
to read “ideal”’ as if it were a type
of lukewarm adjective, and see there’s no
distinguishing veracity from tripe.
I wish I could respect the pressured flow.
I’ve heard a dog’s the best security,
against a village pillager or thief
who’d breach the door and mess with property,
disturb the peace, and give domestic grief.
Although they can be noisy, I agree:
canine as excellent’s been my belief.
Perhaps instead the guarding can be kinked,
and given to a dragon that’s extinct.
What good’s it do, to trumpet your own praise?
Is anybody listening to you?
What carries weight in each self-serving phrase?
What good’s it do?
For even if the claims you make are true,
they won’t convince a soul. Are there displays
that can inspire them to honor you?
You either know your value or you’ll craze,
attempting to compel I-don’t-know-who.
A bluster only windiness conveys.
What’s good’s it do?
Encountering a pattern on real walls
while using a salon facility,
projects me back. Now memory recalls
a time when talent hung where all could see
above a wainscoting. True papery
design that can be felt as well as seen
provides a touch so satisfactory,
it renders pallid my computer screen.
Go figure this – she focused the complaint
on one of two. Maternal prejudice
from her is never subtle, nothing faint –
go figure this.
What she deems cute is dull and obvious.
She thinks a gripe and blurts without restraint,
and any wound she’ll with a snarl dismiss.
I think she’d try the patience of a saint.
And as for me, I’m on the precipice
of critical – I never find her quaint.
Go figure this.
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