In dream I acted an entitled bitch.
In fact I don’t veer very much that way,
but am I wholly lacking a trait which
I criticize in some and might display
a microbit at times? It’s time to switch –
I rose with aim and attitude today
to let my kinder thoughts enhance my show.
I hope to find a softer way to go.
I have some friends on waiting lists to move
to units built for over-55.
I understand convenience and approve
of choice but think, as long as I’m alive,
I’ll opt to live among diversity
in all respects, but most of all in years.
The young around keep stimulating me;
with start of school their vibrancy appears.
They gather at the bus stop full of talk.
They fill the streets like pilgrims when they walk
in clustered groups, backpacked and seldom cold,
an academic army, blue & gold
and eager/apprehensive in my eyes:
My inconvenient neighbors, foolish, wise.
My Kindle’s fully charged, but not with me.
Now I must bus and train and bus without.
I have a phone app but it’s hard to see.
I feel too well to voice complaints about
this lack. It gives me opportunity
to veer from habit, tumbled into doubt.
It prospers creativity, perforce,
to periodically be knocked off course.
The noise above my ceiling bothers me.
I’m used to seeing animals outside;
I like the avian activity,
the skunks are cute, opossums I abide.
The squirrel vandals and the racoon shit
I tolerate – this yard I think’s as much
their home as mine, and they’re appropriate
for garden health. I welcome them as such.
But noise at dawn and sunset over me,
suggesting infiltration through my roof,
unsettles and negates serenity.
I search for ways to make home critter-proof.
Avoiding setting traps, I heed advice,
and hope this sound-repellant will suffice.
The ℞ for today is laying low –
my hips are tight; my shoulders now complain.
My stamina for walking says to slow
it down, and here’s a Thursday to refrain
from any extra effort. I’ll regain
my vigor soon – right now I’ll give me time.
My bath and meditation are the main
events I’ll undertake, besides this rhyme.
The book was thick. I had to flick through inches till I found
what I recall as best of all. Pronouncing every sound,
I read again the lines from when I felt my interest heat
(and ever since, my fingerprints tattoo to meter’s beat).
Some critics scoffed asserting it was doggerel or worse.
The writer countered, okay it’s not poetry but verse.
The first were snobs who did bad jobs, the latter too effacing.
There’s nothing daft about fine craft with good motif and pacing.
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).
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