Like a leaf
In a stream
I cannot determine
The direction
Of the rest
Of my life
What joys
Come my way
What heartaches
Wait beyond the bend
And as much
As I plan
Fate laughs
At my intentions
There are no tea leaves
No crystal ball
Just the morning
That comes out
Of the darkness
Serving whatever
Is on the menu
Be it
Sweet or sour
A neighbor lady I hadn’t seen
in a year I heard was bedridden.
Her former husband dropped by,
asked if I’d to take in her trash can
when I brought in my own.
He lived in a city far away.
She’s very sick, he said.
I said sure, not a problem.
But one morning when I
dragged my big metal can out
to the curb, hers wasn’t there.
It was always there before mine.
No idea who put it out so early.
Maybe another neighbor.
So I went in her yard and tried
to drag the can out to the curb.
It was so heavy I couldn’t move it
so I left it there, figuring whoever
had been putting it out would
find a way to do it again.
I didn’t want a hernia.
I never saw her can again.
Word was, the lady died.
There was no wake or service.
Just a small notice of cremation.
Her former husband got
the house even though they
never got along when married.
You could hear bombs
of arguments late at night.
He stopped by to thank me when
he and the realtor put a sign in the yard.
The house sold in a week to a young
couple with a brand new trash can,
fiberglass, not made of heavy metal.
The can was much smaller, though,
wouldn’t hold a lot of weight.
More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com.
I read poetry
when the dust
on feet has to be
shaken and parish
dreams rest in fettered
ways
when many swirling
thoughts collide with
a bed bug somewhere
or insomniac nights
dip into rhythms
where only words
as hunger would
weep to be loved
not writing but
reading on hidden
motion of streams
crystal clear transparent
in moods.