Maggie and me

Her vet has suggested it is, perhaps, time.

She's a big dog, and with aging her difficulties mount.

She is incontinent, with serious hip problems.

On occasion we babysit her and two siblings

We share certain traits.

While I am more talkative,

She communicates with equal,

If not greater, understanding.

 Long gone is her need to lead

And ward-off any alien (male) dog.

Now Maggie spends her time splayed

On a convenient carpet or couch.

In conversation with neighbors or friends

I invariably touch a shoulder or an arm.

When being petted, Maggie will look

To put a paw on whoever is proffering friendship.

Unlike me, Maggie has a sanguine view of humanity.

Anyone who get their face close enough

Will be rewarded with a tongue massage.

Did I tell you she is a beautiful creature?

A Path To Sunrise

What if being right is not the point?

Rather then establishing a genuinely superior argument,

I might risk the high ground in search of a connection.

What might be lost, or gained, if I start at the bottom

Where we might share a recognition of the dilemma?

Before rushing to assign blame could we look for a path

That leads out of the thicket?

Not a final solution, merely a starting point.

Let’s understand that we may never agree

On the nature of the problem, in which case

We can hope that the inability to decide on the color

Of the table does not end future efforts.

Should we concur as to size, and shape of the table,

Is that not allowing a conditional step beyond?

We will not have foreclosed our ability to hope.

A Socratic View

Andy and I were pleased with our intervention.

Maybe we simply accelerated Javier’s promotion.

Of course, we may have allowed this deserving young man

To advance too soon?

From our point of view, he  always worked hard,

But would stop gardening, offer a smile and say good morning.

When asked, Javier filled me in on his schooling.

He was a Mexican kid in his sophomore year at the University.

He was a liberal’s idealized Hispanic;

Working his way through college

In his honestly hard-fought

Attempt to join the middle class.

Was there someone as “qualified” with seniority

And an equally compelling story?

Perhaps a little older with a family to support?

Surely it was not for us to examine all alternatives?

What we did was consistent with our judgment.

Just putting in a “good word” was reasonable.

Indeed, it would have been wrong to not do so.

I would do it again… after only a moment’s hesitation.

Good Fortune

I'm dog sitting Wilma, Rose and Dooby,

Reflecting on the ease of showing up.

It's not a problem to help a friend

When the task consists of giving dogs treats.

Taking Alan to lunch was work.

Maneuvering his wheelchair around tables,

In and out of the car, and up stairs

Was often a challenge.

I heard an ex Navy pilot

Speak about his extraordinary satisfaction

When, as a suicide phone counselor,

He talked a man off a bridge.

Watching a dog is not quite the same

As talking a soldier off a bridge’s railing.

What they have in common is the very good fortune
Of being in a time and place to help.

Facing West

Slowly, without consciousness

Of the journey that began

At our seminal moment,

We turn.

Predawn light lures our attention.

We see a curious drift toward gray

And crawl to discover its meaning.

It announces the coming of day.

From the East

The day’s journey unfolds,

Reaches its zenith before, inevitably,

Surrendering to the gravity of darkness.

Our steps follow the Sun’s arch.

South, as spring offers its share of joy and pain.

But always possibilities abound.

Long days invite love and lethargy.

Soon, so very soon, mornings will taste of premonitions.

Falling leaves and memories crowd the calendar

And dreams become less flamboyant.

“Outrageous” softens to “silly” then “circumspect”.

Firewood and compromise vie

With preparations and admonitions

Delivered to indifferent addressees,

While we negotiate the failing western sunset.

 

Vienna In the Winter

Perhaps the countryside has sunshine.

Here, in the city, we suffer from despair.

The storms do not darken my mood,

But they represent a challenge.

No, it is the interminable gray,

With or without the accompaniment of snow or rain,

That affords me no respite.

It turns even the redeeming elements of the landscape

Into a depressing quest for a spring day

When the Oak will no longer cover the meager park grass 

With dull brown twisted and dead leaves.

A Prayer For Inflated Tires

George won’t be happy

if he starts his day observing a flat tire.

There is an alternative.

He could begin the day accepting guilt and punishment.

It doesn’t matter that his crime is unknown.

He accepts the idea that his car may have a flat tire,

and prays that today he might not have a flat tire.

His unknown offense subsumed by his prayer.

George lives on a nice quiet street,

where vandalism is not an everyday occurrence.

Of course, the nail might have been embedded elsewhere.

He walks to his car and finds four fully inflated tires.

Today George’s plea must have been accepted.

He is elated and pledges to make a donation.

This marks the 625^th successive no-flat tire day.

George has yet to made his first donation.

No matter, it is another glorious day!

Leo's Call

It was 6 AM when Leo called

To announce today marked his 85^th birthday.

He knew it was 6, but felt compelled

To share his good news.

He had waited until exactly 6 so that

We would not be awakened too early.

Unlike most calls, he only pointed out

Our lack of communication…twice.

It was a happy Leo who called.

Not the guy full of worry about his daughters,

And their lack of respect,

Nor the man bewailing our President.

Leo, Leo, you’ve had your share of bad breaks:

Lost your short-term memory, your job, your wife.

I am truly appreciative of the effort and warmth

Present in your call. Happy birthday!

Going to War

Yes, we do not have another Iraq “slam dunk”.

I care that people are dying.

I have heard nothing that assures a better tomorrow.

Which enemy do we support?

The bad President, winner of a nonelection,

Or the folks sent into Syria by the other mass murderers?

To whom have we pledged justice?

Who has sanctified our perfect wisdom?

Are the people of the Mideast a shade closer to white

So that we should move beyond our self-defense

Into conflicts that are between brothers,

While showing indifference to Black Africa?

Our footprints are everywhere,

And few lament our departure

When we tire of “saving” the natives.