In the Shade

Walking across a small green park
I approached an invalid
Sitting in a motorized wheel chair
In the shade of a Japanese Maple tree.

I asked if he needed assistance.
Able to speak, but with control
Only of his eyes, finger and mouth
He assured me he was OK, but could use some water.

I held up my empty hands and replied “sorry”.
I did not mention I lived just off the edge of the park
And could get him some water
With little difficulty.

Rose, my black mutt led
As we crossed the street
And entered my house.
I did not see the wheel chaired guy again.

With bottles of water in the frig
It would have been easy, so easy,
To walk back to the park.
I thought then, and think now --why?

Panic

Why did the son-of -bitch stand?
I need to keep pushing,
Just another foot
And I’ll reach the overhead storage.

Didn’t I say “excuse me”?
I’ve got to get passed these morons,
All these people now standing,
Blocking my path.

OK. Nice of this young guy to help.
What now?
No room to put the luggage down.
No one deplaning.

Am I claustrophobic?
I remember this feeling.
Train door closing,
Space by the door... jammed.

My daily waking nightmare.
In the center of the subway car I see a space.
If I push a little more I’ll reach Nirvana
A quiet place with a pole to grip.

Jets have no quiet place,
Unless you remain seated.
Why not wait for the others to pass?
Next time I’ll do that!

I’m the Good Guy

I have taken the remnants
And made the structure whole.
Where there was no direction,
There are now a mission and believers.

Yet I am called out,
My motives questioned.
I hold to the need for process
But am seen as trivializing.

I have never looked for honors
Or Hosannas to reassure my acceptance.
Yet good people misunderstand me,
Thinking I wish to remain first citizen.

How sure am I that they are mistaken?
Am I hiding behind a mask,
Unaware that I have drifted
Into a defensive posture?

When did reason go out of fashion?
Or is that another ego trip,
Absolving myself from lost insight?
Is there time to recover?

My enemies are many
And sense weakness.
They deride my proposals.
Compromise is not on their agenda.

This is war
And I have wasted too much time
On self pity and good intentions.
Now I must draw blood, or concede.

I Can See Clearly Now.

If the world has changed to brown
Its been a subtle evolution.
Daily changes go unnoticed
Until confronted by a new revelation.

These pants are too tight.
Why has the quality of my newspaper diminished?
Possibly the shrinkage lies elsewhere.
I can’t recall the world not being brown.

After my surgery the world was less brown.
Rumors of ships beyond the immediate sea-line
Became a reality,
Along with a whitewashed palette.

What must I do with this transformed Earth?
I can store my magnifying glass,
But can’t I do more with this gift?
Is this not second sight?

I am awash with a clarity
Of vision that needs expression.
What once was the Rose has gained
A far broader spectrum.

My paradigms no longer suffice,
Not when I am informed
Of this alternative
Arrangement of my universe.

I know I shan’t remain in this euphoria,
My exploding world of colors,
Not seen in memory,
Will settle to this new standard.

But for this moment
I see as a new-born,
With wonder,
Though I have no way to hold fast to the colors.

Seeing Imperfection

“There is to everything a season.”
Surgically improved vision is no exception.
It seemed our house was clean and my hair OK
I am now hounded by the visually insane.

If subjected to a barracks inspection
By a nasty First Sergeant
Neither me nor my room would pass.
But nostril hairs?

I’m not especially hairy
So an in-depth examination
Of follicles that were undisturbed since prepuberty
Seemed invasive.

In truth, it seemed demented.
When finished I was advised
That there was near rioting
As mustache and nose hairs fought for supremacy.

Before cataract surgery my nostrils
Were a matter of universal indifference.
Hairs did what hairs do,
And no one found it especially offensive.

Walls that looked white
Ae nowa pronounced “faded”,
In need of restoration.
This could cost $$$.

I’ve called the ophthalmologist.
What would it hurt if my wife’s eyesight
Were just 25/25?
He is not sympathetic.

Pushing the Cart

Dad pushed the shopping cart up the incline,
Not quite to the level sidewalk,
Gave a small final thrust
And turned to join me in the car.

I watched as the cart rolled down.
Catching my gaze, Dad looked back,
And twisting his face into a frown,
Retraced his steps to the descending cart.

He gave one big push,
Sending the cart back up the ramp,
Where it hit another cart sideways,
And stopped partway beyond the incline.

My Dad would never have left the job to chance.
He would have walked the cart up,
Secured it to the other carts
And then checked his work.

But this anxious old man,
Wanting to be driven home,
Pursued by tasks untended and unclear,
Found safety in the passenger seat.

My Vacation is Ruined

Evan found floating down the river
In a spare tire a ridiculous affair-
Uncomfortable, boring, with no redeeming adventure.
He pronounced his vacation ruined.

Diana looked around the small studio room
Becoming increasingly unhappy.
A hugh couch block the closet--- no balcony.
Her vacation was ruined.

Both Evan and Diana recovered.
50 years of life separating
Their perspectives, but
Mattered not at all.

It is moments of grace
That allow for the insight.
Age, education and experience take you so far
Then comes life.