Forty

 

This is your homestead now,
your land, sown as it is
with seed or salt.

Yours to husband and to harvest,
to till and break and
cause to bloom.

On the barn, the old letters
have faded and are painted over
with your name now.

That time you said when or if
or then has left. There is only
this sunlit afternoon.

Ready?

Just remember that the Earth
always turns toward the morning,

And a gentle rain is
surely on its way.

For Emica on her fortieth birthday

March 5, 2026

Divorce

 

Did you, my friend, revel in your freedom?

Shook loose the halter of matrimony and

bounded into the morning light.

Was it worth the solitude to leave?

A brief shower but no further blooms,

Only the dry crackle of steps in dead leaves.

Was Fall and Winter unexpected?

Or hoped for?

In the pub, each man drinks from his own cup.

The murmur of voices is not a conversation.

To listen to the song is not the same as singing.

Hands that grip the table edge do not touch warm flesh.

Perhaps I am wrong.

Perhaps the walk through the dark streets alone

Was no hardship. The empty bed, the dish in the sink,

No compromise.

We come and go alone, I suppose.

The sea waves crash ashore

unheard, the mountain broods unseen.

February 17, 2026

for Matt, of course.

Karl Hears the Band

 There are crowd sounds in the other room.
As we drink, your boot looks 
right at home on the bar rail
and you smell like 
bourbon and good cigars.

Your hat brim dips 
and that prophetic beard
flashes when you speak.
It is good to see you again, 
to listen as your
stories weave together
classmates, parishioners 
and friends.
We talk about everything 
and nothing.

The crowd roars in the other room; 
they strike the first electric chords.

I say, "Hey, Karl, lets go-
take a look at the band. 
The music has started." 
I say it just like that, my friend, 
just like that.

And an instant later,
you are gone.

Entering the Kindergarten

 From now on,
September will always be
the month of new beginnings.
Forget New Year's Day,
your world will tip to the Sun
as the bright days of Summer fade.

All time will be counted to
and from this date.
The endless circle of morning and night
will explode into a year,
then a decade.

Your dreams and your awful fears
will revolve around this season
forever.
Your fresh innocence will be postponed
until the leaves begin to turn.

When tomorrow finally comes,
you will lift your slender wrists
to receive the bracelets of time.

Swing Set

 

Opa gives me uppies
into my pink swing 
ClickClickClick
to the moon
    silly old moon
Grass sky grass sky
grass sky grass sky
My shadow shrinks
and grows  shrinks
and grows shrinks
and grows
    Watch this, Opa
Grass sky grass sky
Grass sky grass sky
my hair in my face
shush shush shush shush
shush shush
    remember dat?
I feel squishy and warm
cozy cozy      like a cloud
like a    marshmallow
Me        love      marshmallows
Eyes heavy   sun warm
Me love to swing
me love    to    swing
me love       me love 
me     love
love. 

The Children's Room

 

The Children's Room at the Kennebunk
Public Library is full of toddlers-
a noisy chaos of glue sticks, scraps of colored
paper, moms, books, stools and low tables,
more upscale than our country library.
The kids seemed more privileged too,
as no doubt they are, bossy
unwilling to give up the wooden train set.
"Well, piss on them", I think and maybe
Bindi heard because she grew very quiet
and her Bluey pants turned dark
and wet.

Scoop up her blushing form and hustle
to the men's room, to the privacy
of the handicapped stall
(too flustered to correct myself and think disabled).
Peel off the wet pants and the Paw Patrol
undies. A futile seat on the toilet but
that stream had moved on. Now what?
Off comes my vest, fleece and
undershirt – transformed into body-warm dress.

Coat and clothes back on but at my age,
I can't leave a toilet unpissed.
Bindi is behind me, angling for a look.
She knows what her vulva is
and the word "penis".
But there will be no anatomy lesson on my watch.
Circling the toilet bowl
to keep my back to her,
"I need some private time. I am being shy."
From behind me, in a gentle voice
without judgement -
"It's just me, Opa.
It's just me."

Timko and Oogala

 

“The future looks bright for Timko and Oogala.”
  
So said the warm, white male voice
on Sunday night -
the Wonderful World in Living Color.
The hearty Eskimo(say Inuit) youngsters 
were now fully prepared to meet 
the rigors of the North
and thrive.
Next week we would thrill to see
Charlie the Cougar. Brute hunter,
cunning but never successful. (No sight of 
doe's blood\gashed throat
on Sunday night).

Timko's grasp is light on the ancient rifle 
in his lap; His gaze far across 
the open land, 10,000 feet or more.
The shell is in the chamber.

Oogala sees open water from her house 
all winter long.
She turns from the frosted window to CNN
and pours.

The last dogs howl for the children  
taken away to school.

Three hundred forty breeds of dog, 
but the snow bears will soon be gone
(like the ermine, the fox and honking geese).

The scientist laughs out loud,

“The earth will survive the 6th extinction, 
but we won't.”

Snow Bear (television) Two-part television show; aired on November 1 and 8, 1970. Directed by Gunther Von Fritsch. A polar bear cub is befriended by Timko, a teenage Eskimo boy, while he is on a year’s self-imposed exile from his community, learning the art of the hunt. The soon grown bear has to be returned to the wilds after it destroys the village’s meager supply of food. Stars Steve Kalcak, Rossman Peetook, Laura Itta. Filmed on location in Point Barrow and other Alaskan sites. Released for schools on 16mm film as The Track of the Giant Snow Bear. https://m.wikidata.org/wiki/Q72928840