THE WAY WE LIVE
Here it is : the little policeman, in his cart, is scouring
the streets for parking violators, checking out tires that
that he's already chalked. Up on the hill, the University
cops are standing around, the three of them, with
their little bellies, discussing the weather and what
they should do. Kids stand around, inside the white
tents erected for the vast reception. How we live
today - by such standards this is OK. The lady
that I know, she steps right now out of her house.
I see her nearly every day - she says hi; I reply. Just
yesterday - or the day before was it? - I came around
that corner and startled her, she claimed with a jump.
I said 'Next time, I'll make noise.' So today I did, first
announcing, 'Here I come; hi, how are you?' She laughed,
and said everything was so fine, and how was I today?
-
It's like that. Cake-a-bake or chock-a-block, the way we
pile things up, amass the sum totals all, of our precious
lives. I, truly, feeling this aplomb, want to live forever.
My own days shall never be starched and drawn, I hope,
unto the point that something startles me. Those two kids,
now they've left their blue bicycles in the alleyway and gone.
-
I want to reach for silence, and hug it - in a sort-of way
that only I'm familiar with. The dimmer darkness of impatience,
I admit, sometimes gets me too. Think not that I never depress
or crumble with a burden - alas, I am sometimes as sad and
as soiled as a dying soldier on his field of woe. It doesn't help
to cry over it, instead, just get up and go. That's the succor
you'll find on the minefield - fold up nicely that flag you
carry...but only after you've made the show.
the streets for parking violators, checking out tires that
that he's already chalked. Up on the hill, the University
cops are standing around, the three of them, with
their little bellies, discussing the weather and what
they should do. Kids stand around, inside the white
tents erected for the vast reception. How we live
today - by such standards this is OK. The lady
that I know, she steps right now out of her house.
I see her nearly every day - she says hi; I reply. Just
yesterday - or the day before was it? - I came around
that corner and startled her, she claimed with a jump.
I said 'Next time, I'll make noise.' So today I did, first
announcing, 'Here I come; hi, how are you?' She laughed,
and said everything was so fine, and how was I today?
-
It's like that. Cake-a-bake or chock-a-block, the way we
pile things up, amass the sum totals all, of our precious
lives. I, truly, feeling this aplomb, want to live forever.
My own days shall never be starched and drawn, I hope,
unto the point that something startles me. Those two kids,
now they've left their blue bicycles in the alleyway and gone.
-
I want to reach for silence, and hug it - in a sort-of way
that only I'm familiar with. The dimmer darkness of impatience,
I admit, sometimes gets me too. Think not that I never depress
or crumble with a burden - alas, I am sometimes as sad and
as soiled as a dying soldier on his field of woe. It doesn't help
to cry over it, instead, just get up and go. That's the succor
you'll find on the minefield - fold up nicely that flag you
carry...but only after you've made the show.
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