There’s talk of taking
Turns
You read about the short
Turn-offs
And turn-arounds
These are only
Too familiar
To those who
Can concentrate
Crucially
And emphatically on the moment
Not for those whom
The word moment
Comes slowly
And revolve
Around
The self-inflicted
Fantasizing
Of a peach-fuzz face-down
On the floor
Of an elder hostel.
We must be better
Than we let on
There are witnesses
Who’ve seen
Us exhibit
That happiness thing
I’ve seen films
Of myself
That don’t allude
To the history of modern comedy –
Too late for the asymmetry
Of my face to make the same
Claim.
Today is such a supreme
Example of the ordinary
How to describe:
Man wakes up to find
His daughter’s cat has died next door
On the eve of easter
Actually this is no better
Or worse than any good Friday.
Would that the cat rise up
And come again
To beg food
From the neighbors
Or purr to forget
Misery
At having no caressing
Arms to hold
No one to assess the mystery
Of such beings
Unworthy of saving
Nor starving.
Do we convince
Ourselves that all our moves
Are our own
That we are wholly self-taught
And beholden to none
That we are self-starters
And willfully acting out
Our own plots
This patch of land
Is mine and only mine
Over my head
Six feet above
I see the soles
Of the watching and standing,
Mourning a day or two
Forgetfulness comes
Slowly and,
As the ashes are spread
And spiral upward
In the cyclonic action of the wind,
Dad’s memory
Grampaw’s stories
Auntie’s pie dough
Recipes shredded
And buried
Later to be found and swallowed
By a circling gull
At the ‘fill.
(c)jim hill (4-10-09)
