I never imagined how life would have been
if I were the youngest instead.
It didn’t occur to me when origin
contributes to color the thread.
Birth order’s an issue, and now I’ll begin
to give the discussion some tread.
I watched my dad’s sister. I wince at my friend.
I need to beware of a dangerous trend.
I sometimes think you’re fairly stupid. When
you parrot your old thoughts or network feed,
I stifle yawns and look askance, but then
you’ll utter insight or describe a need
that triggers admiration once again.
I grow to see you faceted indeed.
My brash and silly judgment is negated,
and simple truth embraced – you’re complicated.
We met and soon became committed friends,
eccentrics in our high school for 2 years,
in thought and walks pursuing our own ends,
diverging but with smiles, from our peers.
And I assumed our efforts mutual.
We seemed to have consensus for each act.
We misbehaved a mite, but we were full
of rectitude – our morals were intact.
A little bit delinquent we would be,
agreeing growing up could not be done
without some misdemeanors. I suspect
(but only now) the ringleader was me.
Four parents blamed each other’s kid for fun,
and now I think hers may have been correct.
Is it a sign of wisdom or defeat,
to shift the corporate goals from an attempt
toward better to resistance and retreat?
At what age is a character exempt
from images that trigger self-contempt?
Perhaps at four and seventy (or less),
a goal to not diminish can preempt
old habits – may no worsening impress.
Of course the kids are lovable and bright,
but one, who here is nameless, rings my bell.
They each caught how to build a sentence right
but this one utters language awesome well.
If they have an idea but don’t know quite
the term to use, they’ll ponder and then tell
what’s meant by fabricating a new word.
My heart expands. My brain is lit and stirred.
My daughter photos roadkill that she meets,
and maybe that’s why I paused yesterday
to pay attention, walking different streets,
to this expired squirrel. But the way
his body rested, in supine array,
exhibited uniqueness to my sight.
His chest and belly shone in soft display.
I never knew the underside was white.
We promised more than once that we would tell
each other if we noticed any sign
of age-compressed perspectives that impel
one’s personality to snit, repine,
or tunnel vision, blurred and inward-turned.
To forward and beyond we made our pact.
But treaty’s gone to needy – what we yearned
to hold is fading lately, wrecked and wracked.
We quibble nearly every time we talk.
I want to be reminding you, but how
can I make you attend? I feel you balk
and hear you argue almost daily now.
I want to keep that promise, but you sink,
offended and too crotchety, I think.
A month ago, the ferns beneath the tree
were old and rusty-looking, so he chopped
them down, and left brown clumps for me to see.
I moved toward him as if I would have stopped
his shears, but then he pointed to the wee
and pin-curled fronds beneath the spears he’d cropped.
I’m glad I let him prune and pulverize,
for now new chartreuse growth eye-gratifies.
Self-conscious after surgery, and more
inclined to stay inside than normally
(although he’s always liked his bedroom floor
and often opts to play internally),
I spent some hours in his company,
in talk as usual and loving play.
I don’t claim that the cure was purely me,
but afterwards he went outside today.
About your love I’m not competitive.
This friendship has to have some room for me.
Our conversation’s argumentative,
and seldom now includes affinity.
You sort yourself and so refuse to be
dynamic – you won’t grow or even bend.
And lately you refute our history.
I think you might prefer another friend.
 | sputterpub on About Mom, With Love |
 | groomie on About Mom, With Love |
| sputterpub on No Blocks |
 | Caleb Cheruiyot on No Blocks |
| sputterpub on For Now |
Sputterpub's Blog 