I almost can’t detect the twinge today.
Four weeks since I misstepped but didn’t fall,
I’m sure the injury will go away,
but less that I can ever make the haul
on foot in wear that used to cool-convey
me half a year. I have to heed the call
of age – support these feet each time they’re moved.
At least the sneaker styles have improved.
I used to always wear my hair cut short,
but Covid made me change my strategy,
for after it proceeded for a quart-
er year without a sign of brevity,
I turned away from seeking a salon.
I let my tresses lengthen, bought my hair
a raft of clips and scrunchies to try on,
and started shedding gray strands everywhere.
Tenacious as the seeds forget-me-nots
put forth, to clutch my legs and propagate,
persistent as the onion skin that lots
of grocers must contend with, there’s a spate
of hair to find in corners, collars, drains,
that of my home existence are the banes.
A very merry unearth day, to you, and you,
is senseless a la Lewis Carroll – true.
To celebrate what you’re supposed to do
is slash-and-burn or colonize a few?
Effective as a Meatless Monday spew,
attempting to awaken someone who
is fatally attached to stupid clue.
Perhaps we might create a better view…?
A little burn that took 12 days to heal
has left its object cured and looking well.
The targeting attack was no big deal –
2 applications marked but didn’t swell
and didn’t hurt – a scab had to congeal
and guard each stimulated healthy cell.
No doubt a youngster wouldn’t need so long,
and would have lacked the decades to grow wrong.
Regardless of the calendar, I think
that spring begins when I hear sprinklers spray.
The system’s set to let the garden drink
3 times a week, and as of yesterday,
its switch is flipped to operate the way
intended: early morning; minutes – 10.
If winter’s rain and fall is school, I say
the sprinklers sing the start of spring again.
Just check it out, if you are into games.
If you love art in vibrant hues that shout,
if you’re enchanted by Teutonic names,
just check it out.
Developed by some talents now about
five decades old and burnished in life’s flames,
their field’s a fertile fancy fit to sprout.
I love the makers. I’ve examined frames,
and of the product’s worth I have no doubt.
There’s nothing not to trust within their claims –
just check it out:
There used to be an umlaut on the “i”
I read somewhere, and two beats in the word.
The origin meant “wayward.” To apply
that knowledge, when I saw it what I heard
in mind was “way-erd.” That would satisfy
good spelling, for “i,e” would be absurd.
In searching for such etymology,
the Internet is not supporting me.
I’d made it past mid-century. My story
was more than halfway spun when I employed
a word I’d only read – said “desultory”
with accent wrong. I laughed, for I enjoyed
that token youthfulness. When I was ten
I mispronounced determine “dee-ter-mine.”
It tickled me that I was wrong again –
I hope to learn if I reach 99.
My circumstance is more than adequate.
Bestowed with time to ponder and enhance
my comprehension, I prepare to fit
my circumstance.
I’ve solitude to sway in private dance.
I’ve four days and home comfort for respite.
No danger lurks and no one looks askance.
I do not host a fool or hypocrite.
I have at least two projects to advance.
For half a week, I’ll value and admit
my circumstance.
The one event that’s calendared today
is lunch with a companion dear to me.
The weather’s soft and vernal – insects play
in blossoms – through my window all I see
looks healthy, clean and stirring in the sway
of breeze. Before and after lunch, I’ll be
at comfort in my garden or my room,
and watch wisteria’s cascading bloom.
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