what do they get you?
MY LONG SUFFERING SHOES
It’s an age old habit,
just kicking them off,
then leaving them where they lie.
Right now in the kitchen
are red driving shoes,
and hiking boots with the laces still tied,
Here by the back door,
are red, heart- covered, slip- on sneakers.
Out on the front porch,
tough, elastic, trek sandals
worn by all the well known fun seekers.
there by the pantry,
my Roxy fleece lined slides.
grey – green slash of neon,
wait, silent, flipped on their sides.
It’s true there are two
shoe racks in my closet
holding a dressy, lace heel,
black leather Clark’s,
and my old comfy clogs,
worn simply for the way that they feel.
I have shoe trees to help them
hold that new shoe shape,
if I would simply remember to use them.
And I do! Then I don’t.
Consistent I am not,
but I do polish all with soft boot creme.
I mean, of course,
those with the all leather uppers
get buffed to a military, high spit shine.
The toes AND the heels (Dad)
and the sides and the tops
all brushed ’til they’re looking real fine.
But shiny or not
I have to admit
I ultimately throw them all hither
at the end of the day
to lie where they lay
as the cares of the day simply wither.
There stands a rock pile named Mount Sopris,
That challenges the strong and the hopeless.
I climbed past her lakes,
developed some aches,
fell flat when my knees became worthless.
“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.” Oscar Wilde
NOT SO SURE
He could be right, our Mr. Wilde.
I think, however, it is not only the child
who begins with love beyond belief,
then at some point is overcome with aching grief
when sometimes some things go completely awry
and parent and child feel bits of them die.
Not only the child will rise up to judge.
Oft times its the parents hold hard to the grudge
built up against eyes rolled in utter disgust,
or smart aleck comments, complete lost of trust;
protection from pain when their darling’s hate bursts,
and harsh words fly as proof that love hurts.
It makes no never mind at the end of the day,
when really there is nothing at all left to say.
When e’en if they had them, the words will not come
while the monitors beep, blood pressure cuffs hum.
When life meets its maker, hard work must get done,
the game played all out, the last prize well won,
the child and the parent find each other once more
and right then or later their love will restore.
(inspired by the whisky in John Coyote’s “Trying to Lose Your Memory”)
scotch for blood
oblivion for pain
floor for ceiling
at least twice
IN DISCUSSION WITH HELEN
was thinking about you losing your joy –
my experience has been that my joy is never lost.
tho’ sometimes moldering under layers of grief, or anger, or exhaustion,
inevitably it pushes through to the surface
refusing to be denied
refusing my miserable attempts to ignore it,
much like Emil Catt insistently butting his head against my hand for a rub
it can be so annoying
Black, not blue, virga
above a stark black hog back
Spring has not yet dawned
choke cherry blooming
delicately sweet soft blooms
jam in the making
WORK WHEN THERE IS NO WORK
boredom beyond words
busy work, just busy work
rush home to Scandal