Today I was walking
Away from the café
Of internet usage
Where one can't get a coffee
When I saw a good friend
Without his cancer ridden wife
Who is wheelchair bound

He gave a big smile to me
Of which I readily returned
Somehow though he'd shrunk
Not quite his normal self
As we neared, he told me
She had died the other day
In quite a quavery voice
My heart went out to him

I couldn't help but say
'Okay if I hug you'
I did so without awaiting a reply
He said 'You are making me cry'
As I am right now , writing this
But like him, it had to come out.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

               Encounter with an Aging Hippie Benedictine Tertiary
                                    at the Church Door

The old man’s tee said QUESTION AUTHORITY
In the narthex, where we lay our scene
(Shakespeare lay his scene in Verona, but this was not Verona)
I joshed about deferring to seniority
For he was a tertiary Benedictine

He raised his quavery voice as best as he was able
To squeak that all teachings can and should lay
Upon some sort of philosophical table
And then he rattled his walker and clattered away

I do not know what any of this might mean –  
But I think I was dismissed as a Philistine

The panic is uncomfortable
    Shaky, quavery within

               patience.