I’m sure I must annoy her in a way
or two, but I don’t evidence a mood
of testiness, and though I can convey
fatigue with face, I doubt I’m ever screwed
in scowl. I don’t balk at attitude –
I hardly even note it when it’s coming.
I sometimes state. And I miss solitude.
But I will never irritate with humming.
The walks are interesting; I’ve liked each scene.
The food is various and sleep’s okay.
I’m loving the departure from routine –
I spend time otherwise, and every day
has different irks and merits to convey.
The weather is remarkably like home;
the water colors match my sea and bay.
So far I am content to drift and roam.
We must have crossed the river seven times,
aboard the On/Off bus and then apace.
Although we didn’t witness any crimes,
we noticed gangs of tourists stuffing face
and clogging every vantage, every place,
restricting the advancement of our roam
with photos and no evidence of grace,
at least as ugly as the fools back home.
Do you remember 50 years ago,
when SNL was funny, and we thought
we’d change the world with humor? Did we grow
unsubtle and unwise as decades brought
nostalgia, and we lost the will to know
the space between created and what’s bought?
We made a sorry story, sorry us,
who always meant to generate good fuss.
In years the span’s exceeding 55,
since I first felt the agony of gas.
And from that time, I’ve managed to survive
a few attacks until the toxic pass
occurred. In general, I seem to thrive —
I’m comforted the issue is no mass.
Some trigger eggs today, and family,
took near 4,000 steps to remedy.
Five days before I left, I had no theme
to talk about, no subject to discuss.
I focused on my plans and tried to beam
some calm inside, resisting any fuss
of deadlines, limitations, or extreme
preoccupation, letting no words muss
my musing, sensing scenes will be imbibed
that on return can be word-circumscribed.
It’s just an online test, but it was sent
to me by one who knows a thing or two
of neuroscience. Clearly it’s not meant
to data-mine or sell a point of view.
Results are in, and now it’s evident
that how I self-describe’s precisely true.
I seldom tried to hide how I appeared.
My favorite adjective was always weird.
I’m closing windows, turning off machines,
deploying shades, and soon will lock the door.
Two bags are packed and you know what it means:
I’m off to other regions, to explore
some different ways, fresh attitudes and scenes,
from which I’ll feel renewed and even more.
I’ve made all plans with credit and good faith,
expecting to return September 8th.
I’m grateful for the buses running yet.
I know the system’s ever earning less.
I often ride when walking will not get
me where I wish to go without distress
of time. Directors lately must reset
some schedules and frequencies, I guess.
This stanza marks the ending of a line
that has for decades been a boon of mine.
Among the several reasons not to lie
(avoiding chaos, extra work, and stress),
my adult child states he’ll always try
to tell the truth, and circumvent the mess
that comes along wherever he’d apply
dishonesty. And then he said there’s less
of clarity when memory is dying.
So tidiness is best conveyed by lying.
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