Rose In The Wind

Fourteen years ago Rose was special.

She would race any dog

Encountered on the beach.

Her advantage was a built in move machine.

She was capable of using any leg as a pivot.

When the game was “catch” Rose

Whether chased by one or six dogs,

Would invariably double back,

Leap one of her pursuers and create utter chaos.

A five or ten second reorganization

Was followed by another attempt

To put the long-legged black mutt

In the “gotcha” column.

Now that mutt has arthritis,

Moments of lost orientation

And cannot walk more than two blocks

Except when the wind is hollering.

That calls her back to 360 degree leaps,

And a need for speed.

It matters not who holds the leash

That person is part of the game

And can expect to be strongly prompted

To counter a chest leap.

This morning our sleepy,

Somewhat deaf, fifteen year old Rose

Heard, saw and felt the call

Of a forty mile-an-hour gale.

It was her time to dance and fly…

A sight I shall remember.

Forgetting

Half way between our house and the restaurant

Someone was running in our direction.

Not again? I didn’t leave my credit card…again?

Our waitress was breathing heavily

When she reached us.

In her right hand she held the goddamn card.

This was not the first or fiftieth time I forgot the damn #%&%#$%.

But this was the first time I left my card on her table.

Of course this was the first time she had been my waitress.

I am not a collector of much, so the thirty baseball caps and 100 pens

That I never recovered have not caused sleepless nights.

My subconscious is doing its job.

Notwithstanding the many prompts that have

Encouraged closer inspections, I leave things behind.

I cannot attribute this personal flaw to inheritance.

No family member that I know, or know of,

Has been marked by this need.

There is no basis for believing I am

Manifesting a generous nature.

Whether returned or not there is no conscious choice involved.

Perhaps I am a victim of a strange study started at my birth?

Signs of Life

There are times when tomorrow has no anchor.

Nothing I must do, no place I should be.

Of course there will be mail and email.

Yes! there maybe an intriguing email,

Or a last minute open seat at poker.

In any case there are signs of life.

I open our mail and decide on its fate.

To toss or not to toss?

I make breakfast, if cereal and coffee are the order.

Dinner dishes are my responsibility.

I regularly have to mitigate damages.

I often foul a planned engagement,

A day late an hour early, pick, pick.

Yes, on reflection I am very busy.

A regular energy machine.

A Different Thanksgiving

For 30 years we had dinner at Ray and Carolyn’s.

For 25 of those years we had Fred and his date.

On occasion there were other people.

Diana and I helped facilitate their leaving San Diego.

Now they live in Vermont.

It is strange to not have Carolyn and Ray

With us on this day.

I trust they have family and new friends

Joining them for this Thanksgiving.

Though distance and differences have,

I think, written “closed” to new interactions with them

Still there is a lot of history.

I’ll remember Ray’s retirement party,

Complete with a simulated fire emergency.

We came looking for open seats,

Only to find we were assigned the seats next to them.

There was travel to Russia,

A cruise that circled South America,

And time with their wonderful daughters.

We have much to be thankful for.

Breath In Breath Out

A strong exhalation allows for intake.

We expel used and gather fresh.

Should we not inhale adequately, we have a problem.

That new air, much like a new thought,

Brings us the possibility of change.

Where are we going, how will be get there?

Yesterday’s universe was threatening,

Will we accept it, or renounce its limits,

Bring in fresh air and explore alternatives?

Polling

I shook hands twice with John, good man.

No doubt his endorsement of my writing helped.

If he does not love his candidate

His opposition to my choice was emphatic.

Unlike the shrew to whom I wished a nice day,

Having been offered a very worn tabloid indictment

Without substance, but with substantial volume,

John had reason and a lifetime dedication.

Janet, a resident in a 2-storey walkup,

Was a clear minded professional

Who could easily recite her issues.

Unlike John she had not looked at the party affiliations.

Instead she enumerated here concerns

And how the candidates aligned with her thinking.

My job was to remind people to vote.

Not to change opinions.

This was my 10^th, and probably my last sojourn,

Into a world that should deal with truth

But in fact looks only for results.

Saying No

I admire Neal, he can say “NO”.

No equivocation, no excuses.

Cowardice in the face of a bad proposal

Requires I search for an unassailable out:

“I will be in the hospital”

“I receive my global award that evening”

“I’ll be on the space shuttle to the moon”

Of course Neal doesn’t receive many offers.

That probably is a result of his subtle dismissals:

“Your friends make me sick”

“I hate Modern Jazz”

“I’m waiting for a better offer”

To commit such nonsense to typed exploration

Suggests that I am not in a serious state of mind.