Poem of the Fortnight
While the house is still a bit of a mess, we are home from almost two weeks on the road. So the fortnightly poem is a little late. Soon I will share images of the fabulous exhibit of Dale Chihuly glass at the Dallas Arboretum.
In my last post I mentioned surgical scars on my midriff. There are people who won’t go out after having pre-cancerous lesions removed, or won’t wear shorts because of purple leg veins. This poem is for anyone who thinks it really matters.
Walking past a stout pillar, four feet tall,
yellow as a policeman’s slicker,
I wonder how I’ve never noticed it
outside my gym.
I ask my gym buddy if it’s new.
He says “No, it’s been there all along,”
which seems right because it’s pretty grimy.
As I work out I get too warm, take off my t-shirt,
exposing surgical scars,
and say “Sorry about the view.”
“See that bright yellow pillar out there
that you haven’t noticed in five years?”