I paid attention to his words. Four years
ago he wouldn’t stay at home. He said
although he loved his partner, he had fears
estrangement could develop. So instead,
he opted for the office, ate his bread
mid-day alone, and registered no lack.
His story now is home meant chair or bed,
and movement ‘round the office saved his back.
Reiterating (as he’s wont to do),
he wondered how cartoonists can create
an opus every day. He likes to chew
old questions, aimless, when he could instead
attempt a daily project, so he knew
that practice will cause receptivity.
His focus would expand – in, out, and through.
He’d note impressions, questions, and his state
of mind would boom as inspiration grew.
An atmospheric river, says the news.
My mother, brother, buddies second that.
If I were you I’d stay home, they enthuse,
but I’m determined I will venture out.
The bus and train are running – I can use
them and my feet to visit some I love.
I’m old but I’m still able to refuse
the cautions that deflate. I’m laughing at
alerts, and I’ll come home without a bruise.
They snuck the stucco on one day last week.
I must have been away from home – I heard
no indication, saw no skilled technique.
It’s been a while since I’ve penned a word
about the houses blocking my oblique
perspective, for this is at least the third
week they and skunks have given me a rest.
With silence and sweet breathing I’ve been blessed.
I dreamt last night of insects in my place.
Ten ants supported a mosquito lead.
The crawlers visit winters, when a brace
of rain befalls, but do mosquitos breed
in cold?
She tries to buzz my toddler’s face;
I execute before the beast can feed.
I carefully explain the flattened bug,
and then we kneel to play upon my rug.
I like to spend my Mondays home alone.
I opted years ago to not commute
that day but work remotely, first by phone
and later email, erranding as well.
And even in “retirement,” I’m prone
to save the day for me – I see the staff
on Tuesdays, till this week when one has flown
to puppy-pick. I chose to substitute,
so Monday-worked. Now Tuesday’s all my own.
The fact is, we don’t have a big sky here.
The ocean ferries clouds and overcast,
and though our air is generally clear,
we don’t see starscapes like the prairies, grassed
and landlocked. We are graced with atmosphere
of moist and breezy, line-of-sight not vast.
But even here we sometimes have a sky
that stops me in my tracks and bathes my eye.
Reviewing poems I wrote 2 years ago,
recording state of muscles, vigor, skin,
and skeleton, those iambs did bestow
a roster of impressions on my age.
I never guessed, so little did I know,
the benefits from yoga every day.
At home, at ease, I regain poise and glow.
It’s like I found the perfect medicine –
that costs but 20 minutes to inflow.
I’ll not complain, although I may imply
I would prefer less dates to entertain
me, after bidding relatives goodbye.
I’ll not complain.
The visit was my pleasure – even rain
and ice could not deter my choice to fly.
But five succeeding meals out were a strain.
I would have rather spaced them, but to vie
for rainchecks would be graceless – I’ll refrain.
It’s hectic but no schedule I’ll defy.
I’ll not complain.
Arriving home at 25 to 6,
I feed them as a form of self-defense.
At nearly 3 and 7, I must fix
a healthy snack or chaos will commence.
An offer of whole fruit won’t work – the trick’s
a little preparation – bringing sense
of sight and ease and whimsy to the plate,
inviting little hands to celebrate.
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