Wednesday, May 30, 2018
Riding II
I had to learn as I rode
Back and forth on
The 405 never to let
My thoughts interfere
With my riding. Those
Who did not ride this
Way soon gave it up.
Close-calls were common
When a mind is allowed
To wander. Mine never did.
For years I rode never thinking
Of anything but the road
Until I got home and put
My bike away. Susan was
There then, drifting in and
Out between the lanes. She’d
Wake with a start as I set a
Tray of food on her lap. She
Smiled her thanks
But smiles no longer,
And I no longer ride.
Riding I
The roses always bloomed
For her, but not for me --
But I still feel an obligation
To Try. They ration water
Here and it seldom rains.
I encountered an Indian
In the dry river bed
Who asked for a drink
And I gave him one.
He went on ahead
With confidence after
Having said he was
Never here. I am
Here – at least for now.
I dreamed of office debates
And conflicts all of which
Demanded my involvement.
I dreamed I went outside in
The rain and covered my bike.
Later I rode home with
It stinging my eyes.
Her Hand
I tried to hold her hand
A little longer, gripping
It as firmly as I could;
Never willingly letting
It go, and its going
Was in one sense only.
I have it still whenever
I sleep, whenever my mind
Drifts it is there. Lights
Flicker and I’m never sure
Where I should be. Other
People are self-concerned,
Passing, looking neither
Right nor left. Susan
Unlike them is always near,
Here some place, saying
Things she said before --
The normality I’m left with.
We never discuss this
Arrangement. I simply
Assumed there would be one.
The Big One
Not everyone would see the flash
Or feel the heat of the explosion.
Night would be the most
Spectacular time, signs exploding
One by one. Sitting at a corner
With Duffy sleeping, Jessica
Peering through the windshield
Watching the cloud forming.
I had seen it in newsreels,
Backed into an alley
And turned around. I was
Unclear about surviving
Which in Cold-War days no
One was supposed to, but
Many survived Nagasaki
And Hiroshima. It could be
Done, and we were not near a
Likely target. Duffy climbed
Into my lap. Jessica continued
To stare with unflinching gaze
Through the window. Ben slept.
Sunday, May 20, 2018
Riding Alone
You imagine what it is like,
Riding the wind as much as the road,
A sprinkling rain dappling your visor.
You are enclosed, cut off,
Feeling you knew you would be
If you kept on thinking
As you did. You
Must be brought
To heal or be ostracized,
The traditional means of being
Cut off from the tribe.
You were not meant to ride
Alone and surely know
That through your DNA.
Riding alone you’ll one day
Find yourself under a truck
On the 405. There is no
Place, we’ve seen through
Our lenses, for a being
Like you – though as old
As you are it no longer matters.
Saturday, May 19, 2018
Straggling on the Beach
Stragglers on the beach –
Seaweed the next tide
Will drag back out.
The band has come
And gone – the prizes
Given. Those still
Here have nothing won.
Undone as we are,
Shirts and shoes
Bereft, eyes grit red
That barely see the
Passing of gulls, the
Raucous tribe that
Battles for the little
Left. Here and there
Sand crabs creep
Out to look and then
Slip back. Nothing
Remains but the crawling
Over to pass Beyond. I’ve
Passed beyond now many times.
On Getting Down
Catching myself dreaming I can
At least credit those fanciful
Scenes for the leaden moods
Of my mornings – but absent
Recollections, the heavy world
Is like scraps of paper
Jessica leaves strewn
On my study floor. I grope
About for whatever’s
There, raise my head and
With faulty ears listen
For something in the trees
Outside – birds perhaps
Or just the wind ending
This unsuccessful introspection.
I lift some weights, dash
About the house doing
Chores, see outside that
The heavy clouds have yet to
Lift. Without meaning to
I feel better in an hour or two.
Chances taken and refused
He hated to miss work
So he lay his head on the
Track knowing the train
would wake him. If it
Did the coroner
Wouldn’t say -- if
He knew, but how could
He know (a grisly pausing
In the reminiscence)? Those
Dangerous tracks when young
Come crowding back – I could
Have fallen from a balcony
Or an oil derrick while standing
On my hands. My friends
Took no chances and shied
Away from all I did though
Gone now from cancer and
Large quantities of booze.
My close calls lifted my head
From the track and drew me
Down from my high places.
Thoughts
Creeping up, he never heard
My thoughts. Writhing while
I watched, he didn’t care. His
Face contorted as the last of
His memories slipped away. I
Stepped aside to let them pass,
Marking, as I did, the place
With a turned-down page.
They won’t need us to fly
Or drive cars. They can
Rebuild our arms and legs.
Time was I climbed several
Peaks near here and could
See the activity below.
Time was I cared and said
So to the faces which would
Go blank as their thoughts
Went black and their
Tongues clogged, stopping
Whatever words they
Would say if they could.
Spills
I spilled a fruit-drink
Over my desk and down
The back. “Oh no!” I
Shouted as I always do.
Jessica barked, “What
Now?” She watched me
Intently as I rushed about
Wiping it up
With a towel, using
A cleaner, not getting
It clean enough. She
Sat still watching as
I raised my hands
In apology. “Sorry.
I shouldn’t have yelled.
Susan wouldn’t have,
But we don’t have her
Any more,” I said, going
On thinking Jessica
Came later. Susan
Was already gone.
Wednesday, May 9, 2018
The Body in the Backyard
I woke part-way, my mind spinning
With worry – Susan said it was not
Her fault, but sometimes it was,
And she wouldn’t remember; so
I tried to let it go. She said she’d
Take care of this one, but when
I sat up and looked out, the
Body was still there – in plain
Site – at least one leg was.
She had thrown a tarp over
The upper part. She descended
Further it would seem – this had
To be on me this time, but I
Knew nothing of concealing
Something like this. I imagined
Dragging him to the end of the dock,
Pulling him down into the West-
Wight Potter, down into the hold,
And sailing out, but how far
To go prevent his drifting
Back in? I kept drifting
Back into sleep despite needing I
Knew to get up. Get him into the
Potter would be very slow work.
I’d need to stock it for several days,
And who would manage Susan while
I was gone? Maybe if I hid him
Some place else, maybe cutting
Him up. I shuddered at the thought
of cleaning the mess, tip-toed
Down the hall to see if she knew
Who he was, shook her gently,
“What?” She groaned. “Do you
Know who he was?” “Who?”
She groaned again. “The man
You killed.” “What?” She said
Again, trying to rise. “There’s a
Dead man in our back yard. You
Killed him on the way home.”
“What?” She said again, eyes wide.
“Never mind,” I said in a calming
Voice. “I’ll take care of things.”
“Okay,” she sighed and lay back
Down. I tip-toed out, brewed
A cup of espresso, thought, and
Needed more. Who he was
Couldn’t be allowed to count.
I needed once again to think --
One final time to get it right.
Note: The West Wight Potter is a small sail boat designed for the rough north seas. I owned a Potter in the 70s and 80s. It was the first sail boat I took Susan out in and she loved it. Here are the Potter’s specifications: http://sailboatdata.com/viewrecord.asp?class_ID=5153
In Declining Years
Lightning flashed in the west.
A black cloud-like dragon
Enveloped our world. “Sing out,”
A brave voice sounded – cut short
By a hacking cough, followed by
Clouds of smoke as he lit another
Cigarillo. “Oh ye doubters
In piles, from one end of my
Hall to the other.” He raised
His other fist and shook it.
The rafters rattled as
The dark cloud settled around
Us. Night in its most extreme
Manifestation trades away
Our sun for four planets, a
Meteor and a hand-full of
Asteroids. I thought there
Would be more of a conflagration:
Wars, fire and brimstone. But
We have aged and become too
Feeble to raise our hands in rage.
A black cloud-like dragon
Enveloped our world. “Sing out,”
A brave voice sounded – cut short
By a hacking cough, followed by
Clouds of smoke as he lit another
Cigarillo. “Oh ye doubters
In piles, from one end of my
Hall to the other.” He raised
His other fist and shook it.
The rafters rattled as
The dark cloud settled around
Us. Night in its most extreme
Manifestation trades away
Our sun for four planets, a
Meteor and a hand-full of
Asteroids. I thought there
Would be more of a conflagration:
Wars, fire and brimstone. But
We have aged and become too
Feeble to raise our hands in rage.
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