There's a time machine whirring in my head
that needs no dials or crystals.
I shut my eyes and whoosh I’m off to tour my universe.
I am five eating sherbet
nurse-brought to ease the ache
where tonsils lately flared and burned.
A sheepskin's offered at the high school gym.
Hands swirl pressing ink into paper
that binds a home to me and me to labor.
I toss Dad a curve and it snaps in his glove.
We sip Boston Coolers on the stoop.
I watch a shovel of earth fall to his casket.
Checking the mirror I escape the garage
steering past farms where ancestors whisper,
“Welcome home, son, won’t you stay awhile? ”
Glad for the offer I cannot accept, I drive on.
My machine can fast forward too
and the future beckons like Odysseus’s Sirens -
promising pleasures and hidden perils.
Next month’s journey to Anasazi lands
is already mapped and scheduled
and we are camera ready.
After some future dusk
I will join the ancient ones in the past tense,
but for now, undaunted by submerged rocks
I advance steadily toward the Sirens’ song.
There is a time machine whirring in my head.
You have one too.
There is much to see – and time is dear.
Come ride with me!
June, 2006
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
There's a time machine whirring in my head
that needs no dials or crystals.
I shut my eyes and whoosh I’m off to tour my universe.
I am five eating sherbet
nurse-brought to ease the ache
where tonsils lately flared and burned.
A sheepskin's offered at the high school gym.
Hands swirl pressing ink into paper
that binds a home to me and me to labor.
I toss Dad a curve and it snaps in his glove.
We sip Boston Coolers on the stoop.
I watch a shovel of earth fall to his casket.
Checking the mirror I escape the garage
steering past farms where ancestors whisper,
“Welcome home, son, won’t you stay awhile? ”
Glad for the offer I cannot accept, I drive on.
My machine can fast forward too
and the future beckons like Odysseus’s Sirens -
promising pleasures and hidden perils.
Next month’s journey to Anasazi lands
is already mapped and scheduled
and we are camera ready.
After some future dusk
I will join the ancient ones in the past tense,
but for now, undaunted by submerged rocks
I advance steadily toward the Sirens’ song.
There is a time machine whirring in my head.
You have one too.
There is much to see – and time is dear.
Come ride with me!
June, 2006
In 1850, all of my paternal ancestors were farmers. By 1900 none of them were. My wife and I drove through 40 miles of vital agriculture today and I hated to get back to the city. Fortunately our house is about 1/4 of a mile from a field where the corn is at least 12 feet tall.
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