I'm hardly the one
You left behind,
Twenty odd years ago;
The suit fits much better,
Now I'm in the show.
I'm not using slight-of-hand,
No smoke or mirrors,
Just running sand;
The big tent long left town.

I know the four directions,
And how my wind will blow.
And even at a four way stop
I know who has the right-of-way.
And when it's my turn to turn,
I'll step on the pedal and spin my wheels
And drive myself insane.

I should've written Thanks across a blue sky,
Where the winds would carry my message
Around the world.
But I didn't even try.

I should've banged my pots and pans,
Put a sign out on my lawn,
Or at least on a forward facing window.
But I didn't, and I'm wrong.

I could've, with minimal exertion,
Clicked Like or Love
On one of the millions of gratitude posts
Praising them... Them,
The essential and not so essential workers
On our northern, southern, eastern and western Fronts.
But I didn't, and it haunts.

So,
I will now say,
Thank You
To all those who expressed Thank You
To all those who have kept us healthy, safe and secure:

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU.

I scanned the old man
Through my translucent curtain.
He stood before my door, hand raised,
Seeming ready to knock.
Wires ran into his large ears;
His waddle swayed over his crew neck,
Beneath a brown corduroy jacket.
Liver spots crowned his wispy head,
And the back of his hand.
He listed and bobbed
Like a Huron laker waiting to unload.
He had a distinct and not unfamiliar look;
A man with full faculties.
I opened the door to him,
But he said, "It's not time."
"Time?" I asked.
"To let me in."

Where have all the assassins gone,
I'm just asking,
Where have all the hit-men gone,
It wasn't long ago.
Where have all the psychos gone,
Ones like Sirhan Sirhan,
Or a crazy red Russian,
Lining crosshairs for Vlad Putin.

Where have all the agencies gone,
I'm just asking,
The MI5, the CIA,
KGB, Mossad;
Where have covert actions gone,
When there's guys like crazed Kim Jong;
Or a crazed Red Russian,
A narcissistic Vlad Putin.

Where have all our heroes gone,
I'm just asking;
Where have all our leaders gone,
Not so long ago.
Where have all fine Russians gone;
Boris was their last good one;
When will we ever learn,
Ego-maniacs can't govern.

I didn't do anything controversial today
Other than hear the news.
I must be an aberration; in the minority.
I didn't shoot my mouth off;
I didn't shoot anyone,
Or invade my neighbour's space.
If I did, I'd be the news.
All I did was write an inconsequential poem
With a pen moving across straight blue lines.
I'll bet Chris Wallace won't read it on the news.

My translucent skin is looser now,
I'm loosing my gray hairs;
Teeth are kept beside my bed,
My ears aren't on my head.

At times I wobble when I walk,
I creak across the floor;
At times I drool when I talk,
I'm venting so much more.

My fingers gnarled;
My belly barreled;
My back is bent from care;
My toes are crooked,
My nose has hooked
(Did I say I'm loosing hair?)

Friends are disappearing,
Like scenes in my rear view;
Once there were so many,
Now scattered,
And there's few.

I'm resident in my lazy boy,
Watching old re-runs;
But I have reels inside my head
Of desires once well-fed.

So I sit here,
And see you there,
With gray cardigan and gray hair.
But in my theatre we're in a field
Of long grasses and long hair.

For much of my life
I’ve been afraid;
It started with my shadows,
It’ll end with the grave.

I was afraid of falling
Off my bike,
Yet I kept on falling
Till I got it right.

I was afraid of what?
I didn’t know;
But knew that school
Was the place to go.

I was afraid of silence,
When the talking stopped;
I was afraid of the water
Till I belly-flopped;

I was afraid of strays,
Cats and dogs,
Till I met yours
And saw their love.

I was afraid of bullies,
Big and bad;
Till I stared them down,
They were small and sad.

I was afraid of my Dad,
Soon the boy grew up;
I was afraid of failure,
So I never stopped.

I was afraid of being caught,
So I learned to tell the truth;
I’m afraid of Climate Change,
I’m afraid we’ll loose our Earth.

I’m afraid for my children,
Now they’re afraid for theirs;
My thinning skin is looser now,
I’m loosing my grey hairs.

And I’m not liking Death, just now,
People disappear from view;
And yet I heard or read somewhere,
It’s the easiest thing we’ll do.

I heard a nasty rumor about Robbie dying.
But that's not quite true;
At least not until he doesn't meet up with you.

I didn't see him daily, so, for me, he really hasn't.
Not quite yet.
We had lunch just the other day:
"We'll be teeing up in April," he smiled.
Smiled. He's so good at that.
Robbie might be dead then,
But not today. Not for me.

But that's not what they'll say
When he doesn't show.
Then I'll know.
And I already feel the hurt.

The key to heaven,
And escape from snake desires;
On lips goodbye falls!