Category: Septemember

Watching Woman with Dog

Published on by geriatric pilgrim2 Comments
stock photo

~

I don’t know if she is walking 

the dog or if the dog is walking her,

but by the time they get to 

the bench by the mailbox,

she looks ready for a break.

She sits down heavily, 

takes a breath, 

throws her head and shoulders back,

closes her eyes and basks in 

the September sunlight.

Meanwhile the black lab 

circles the bench

tangling its leash 

around her legs,

before going behind her

and doing its doggy business.

The woman sighs, 

rises, untangles herself,

and harvests the dog poop 

into a blue plastic bag.

The dog, delighted, 

I’m guessing, that she’s up,

rolls over happily 

on the yellow grass,

kicking its four feet into the air.

Then they go on their way, 

the woman half-pulling 

half-pulled by her black beast, 

leash in one hand, 

bag of shit in the other.

I don’t own a dog, 

but I know the feeling…

~

September Interplay

Published on by geriatric pilgrim7 Comments

◊

Through my window, a September slant of sunlight

softened by shadows cast by hemlocks in the hollow

seems a plush carpet inviting me to take off my shoes

and walk barefoot into a golden world.

◊

Summer sun glares, remorselessly highlighting

weeds I failed to pull, dents I’ve put in the car, windows that need washing.

Winter light is weak and pale, helpless against the darkness

always hovering on the horizon, a constant reminder of mortality.

◊

To someone who’s spent his life caroming 

from one extreme to another, a ping-pong ball

sent back and forth by whoever I’m trying to please today,

◊

September says, “Live in the interplay

of light and shadow, 

of cool mornings and warm afternoons, 

of tart cider and sweet corn,

of raucous crows and cooing doves,

of grief and grace.”

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