We’ve noticed new construction has a change
in how they pick the windows to install.
Of course they’re double-paned, but it seems strange
the part that can be opened is so small.
Likewise, the ADU that’s like a wall
above my deck: most windows that I see
are fixed – at least, the ones appearing tall.
It’s weird but will be noise-protecting me.
Remembering when we were both 15,
and met without a clue we’d share a year
so filled with enterprise and no caffeine
(one never knows until the vision’s clear
with hindsight, how significant some hours
contribute to the memories we’ll hold).
We shared strong intellect, eccentric powers,
and soft repulse to do what we were told.
Our private phrase – “No childhood’s complete
that doesn’t include (we’d fill in the blank)…”
We set about to run away, to cheat
and smoke and drink, with no one else to thank
but us and our extraordinary view.
I look back now with pride, and laughter too.
I understand there’s power in a crowd.
A company can consummate a job.
For good or ill a faction may be loud:
at best a rally and at worst a mob.
But I’ll admit groups do not ring my bell.
I seldom seek a venue, and I’m much
more likely to in solitude do well.
But there are times that stir my spirit, such…
…as standing at the Western Wall, aware
of thousands gone before me praying there,
or sitting down among the Bristlecones,
and sensing from their base the planet’s tones.
I’m not benumbed to life’s sincerity;
I just don’t peal in large society.
“There’s something wrong – he isn’t strong – confronted by a choice,
he can’t pick toys – there’s too much noise inside, that saps his voice.
He’s only 3, but don’t you see – my boy’s a special case.
Autism’s name is how I frame this picture of his face.”
(And ever since she doesn’t wince, for everywhere she looks,
she symptom-sees the same disease, in schools, on streets, in books).
Another sought when he was fraught and doomed to focus poorly,
the malady ADHD distracted him so sorely,
that soon he turned to what he learned would render some relief.
And he improved and so was moved, by science and belief,
to see the signs in other minds: “Ah ha! He shares with us;
they ought to take the pills that make us focus with less fuss.”
And someone’s wife, beset by strife, called oxalates the cause.
She named obscene all Florentine, and claimed by natural laws
the common beet could health-defeat if eaten of too much,
and quickly found that all around are toxins she won’t touch.
(And ever since she doesn’t wince, for everywhere she looks,
she symptom-sees the same disease, in schools, on streets, in books).
Although they met and promptly set about to fall in love,
and he behaved as if he’d saved his vigor for a shove
toward firm embrace and gaze in face like fairy tales of yore,
in point of fact their marriage pact was flimsy at its core.
Beset with stress they made a mess, and blended family
became unglued until each rued the other’s progeny.
The quarrels first concerned at worst contentious tones of voice,
progressing then to how and when each worked and which had choice.
Till he at last all patience passed, and love was soon forgot.
Then neither fool could longer duel about the coffee pot.
Again surprised at sensitivity
from muscles I thought I’d well exercised…
I chased a spider. Now I get to be
again surprised.
She scurried on my sheet. I recognized
her leggy form and smashed her fatally.
Today my quadriceps are compromised.
I move with stiffness; I’m a sight to see.
Such darting action now is not advised.
I’m struck with waning flexibility,
again surprised.
Without a doubt the teacher I remember most of all
was given like a present in 5th grade.
The man was smart, creative, wise, and I can still recall
some ways and means his teaching plan displayed:
Like dictionary racing for a word
that Mr B pronounced, to get there first;
or quizzes on the morning news we’d heard,
but never noting who performed the worst;
us reading Thursday poetry, or just
reciting lines to every present ear
(and letting that class joke arise, to trust
if nothing else the ride of Paul Revere);
narrating history while we did art;
and pointing out that, while a record ran,
we all were focused on the spinning part
(for such a sight-reliant creature’s man).
The maestro was a mage. I even met his family,
including me in outings to the zoo.
Of teachers either bland or threatened/envious with me,
he really was the best of all too few.
Disdainful of the plotting and for sure
embarrassed at what scripts make actors do,
I guess I can’t take zany any more –
at least not movies streaming billed as new.
Becoming a curmudgeon? At my core,
I don’t believe those syllables ring true.
Instead I fear the situation’s clear –
our culture’s growing stupider each year.
I’m trying when I transit through a door
to whisper to myself encouragement.
My kid says stepping on another floor
can reset active memory. I’m bent
today on bending better, and what’s more,
I’m not averse to stretching my extent.
It’s worth a week’s attempt. It’s not complex,
soliloquizing softly I can flex…
A spine’s a stick but mine feels petrified,
unlimber in the lumbar, and the neck
resists smooth move like it’s solidified –
the top and bottom of my rod’s a wreck.
I’m tired of the cautions I have tried
but not about to quit them. I expect
to heal more slowly than I did back then,
but soon I’ll twist and bend and flex again.
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