Ahead of me the asphalt arrows, steep,
appearing nearly vertical. I ride
the flat approach a little scared, but keep
on pedaling – I’m fit and fortified
by habit, knowing push-and-pull applied
repeatedly – just fast enough to stay
upright – will take me up a mountainside
that looked so daunting from a mile away.
I vote because I can, I should, I must.
It’s like a centerpoint of legacy.
But to be honest, it’s with some disgust
that I complete the ballot currently.
When young I read it close and carefully,
but sliding sideways now upon a slope
of venal, crooked surreality,
I ink and post the thing with little hope.
Did you forget the best revenge is living well?
So elegant, and more than that, it works –
it means you won’t waste time to try to tell
the honest souls apart from irksome jerks.
(I think you did).
Did you forget what goes around redounds on you?
Some call it karma but, by any name,
it seems malevolence increases, due
to dark intention, and it has poor aim.
(I think you did).
Did you forget to dig a secondary pit
beside where you’d inter that enemy?
That if you eat revenge appropriate,
it’s best served cold – though tasteless that will be.
(I think you did).
I’d never counsel you to turn the other cheek,
but when you rise above, you start to soar.
Nobody wants you tentative or meek,
but you forgot how wise you were before.
You pay no mind to syllables I speak,
although you know I’ve never been inclined
to harness language in a vain technique.
You pay no mind.
What would it cost? The coin’s not hard to find.
The only type of currency I seek
is presence, soft-acknowledged by my kind.
Your eyes meet mine. Your smile isn’t weak.
I thought you could afford me as we twined.
But decades contradict. I say with pique,
you pay no mind.
It’s difficult anticipating sun
when clouds are low and rain is pelting down.
It seems like storming will forever stun
the limbs from trees and make the seedlings drown.
But comes the clearing when the squall is done,
with azure sky and sunshine like a crown,
and then I can’t believe that in an hour
we’ll soak again beneath another shower.
With all the ways to amble to the store,
the prettiest includes a two-block hill.
It isn’t steep – my vigor can endure
it, but most days I’d rather skip it. Still,
the view is worth the effort, and what’s more,
I’ll bus home laden and curtail the drill.
I’m old but not about to call a stop,
though I’ll admit relief to reach the top.
The storms last week were not as scary here
as forecasters announced they’d likely be.
I’m sure they’re right about the atmosphere,
the power outages, accounts of tree
collapse, but individuals appear
less devastated than reports. It’s clear
I’d better trust what I can hear and see –
not media. And now I’ll sweep debris.
A life unshared, somebody once opined,
describes a life unlived. That gave me pause.
I then was twice-divorced and not inclined
to think a third time charming, for the flaws
in marriage one and two were no doubt mine –
indeed, my exes each espoused again
without complaint or doubt, while I seemed fine
as one, and only lonely now and then.
It happens when I let my gaze extend
to big occasions that I feel alone.
Except when contemplating fetes or end-
of-life, I’m happy being on my own.
I daily flourish, unannoyed and free.
I share my life with others constantly.
Sam wanted water from the fridge, and not
the tap with ice cubes that I offered him.
The bottle was too buried to be got,
and I declined to cater to his whim.
“Just get some cubes,” I said. Then Lila tried
to open up the leftside freezer door.
Sam blocked her, whereupon of course she cried,
and so did he, while sinking to the floor.
At that I pumped my fists in victory.
“I can’t believe I got you both to cry!”
They hesitated as they looked at me.
“Does Grandma rock? How powerful am I?”
He cracked a little smile then, which cued
her own, and thus we slew our little feud.
I didn’t measure and I don’t have stats,
but we’ve absorbed a spate of rain this year.
If quantity is up to last year, that’s
significant. So far the bricks appear
less damp where they abut the floor, and near
the hearth the mortar doesn’t effloresce.
Too soon to celebrate improvement here,
is new construction helping? That’s my guess…
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