34. HERE'S TO THINKING.....

HERE'S TO THINKING.....

You had it made the last time I saw you,

rolling sideways over your bottle of beer,

skating down hills with an imaginary lash,

talking to the doctor in the language of another

day. I was taken, momentarily, by your dash and spray.

Here's to thinking.....that you were settled in the

last time I saw you - living like a skunk in a rich man's

closet, heaving minks and otters out the cellar door,

loading up on ciders and wine with an eye on the

other side. Leaving windows open to the night.

Never looking back, nor turning out the light.

Here's to thinking.....that it would never end. I saw

you on the wharf, hauling great ships in with your

bare hands, using catcalls to fell the rabble, dining

on eggs and butter in the leeway of the dirge.

I wanted to follow you, to stay. I really had that urge.

But, alas, even the heavy points fell in time.

Now I see you - wrinkled dumb and dying,

embittered bent and crying - and can't think of

anyplace I'd rather be than where you're not.

It all came down so simply as each thing fell

in place. The coastline wasn't yours, the

casement window had always been locked.

You'd really done nothing of note -

an entire life, I see now - had been

hocked.