Off Ramp
Panhandling the off ramp pays pretty well,
you can tell. It seems like catching folks at this
end of their day as they make their way works
its magic on their money and their mood.
Perhaps, it’s guilt or generosity or just curiosity
that moves them to see shabby grown men run
from car to car, hands held out, bills flapping
or folded, the occasional coffee or burger bag
changing hands, the spoils paid out, scurried
after, the lame one can walk fast enough, the blind
can see quite well, could make change if he had to.
Their signs, set aside, would speak their volumes
to the ground or guard rail: I’m an unemployed
homeless veteran, I have an inoperable brain tumor,
three sick children, and no way home. I’m hungry.
Anything will help. And, for some reason, they all
say, “God Bless,” as if divinely sent to bestow
His blessings on these minor transactions.
And, the cars keep coming to this stop, the light
phases them through slowly, the stray dollar bill
or two comes out in turn, weighs down the world,
this measure, this divide between haves and have-nots.
Intersections
They pause us on our way, a time to decide.
Some with stop signs, some with lights, and
There are others out there in the middle of
Nowhere, unmarked, mysterious, momentous.
We can turn left, hang a right, or keep on going,
Could even turn around and head back.
Sometimes it’s daunting to decide, and
Sometimes it’s amusing, but it’s always
Necessary; we can’t linger too long –
Intersections are never destinations.
And there’s always the guy behind us who
Keeps honking, hurrying the inevitable.
We can roll forward slowly, test our choice,
Imagine each, play out in our minds how one
Thing leads to another, how one choice can
Change everything, bring unfortunate outcomes.
And the guy behind us gestures wildly, as if he
Were able to change everything to fit his day.
Intersections hesitate us; delay our day in a way,
Give us a power over destiny, a perspective
Worth treasuring, worth measuring, the power
To sit still and control things just briefly.
And the guy behind us is behind us and must
Wait. We will eventually decide and move on.
Dream Poem
I saw my mother in a dream last night. She was standing just
inside the family room, over by the radio, near the kitchen door.
Actually, at first she was my grandmother, but when I stood
up from the couch and started toward her she turned into
my mother. She was dressed in her winter coat and that hat
she thought was so stylish and everyone hated. Her posture,
just the way she always held her hands together in front of her,
it was her.
Now, that may not seem like much really, but I have never seen
either of my parents before, like this, in a dream. I once ran down
a hallway in a dream trying to catch up to my father, but I didn’t
catch up and he soon disappeared in the crowd of strangers; my
dreams are usually filled with strangers, with people I don’t know
or care to know.
But last night my mother stood there and looked at me, looked as if
she were about to say something -- I remember that facial expression
so well – she was going to tell me something important, something
that made her a bit nervous to say.
For some reason at that moment I decided to call to my wife. I knew
my voice would sound funny – but I called out anyway, and Donna
shook my shoulder a bit, and my mother disappeared, and I was
back in my bed. I lay awake for a while. I was actually frightened, but
I’m not sure why.
In the morning when I told her about my dream my wife said she didn’t
remember shaking my shoulder – but anyway I woke up and I never got
to hear what she wants to say to me.
Panhandling the off ramp pays pretty well,
you can tell. It seems like catching folks at this
end of their day as they make their way works
its magic on their money and their mood.
Perhaps, it’s guilt or generosity or just curiosity
that moves them to see shabby grown men run
from car to car, hands held out, bills flapping
or folded, the occasional coffee or burger bag
changing hands, the spoils paid out, scurried
after, the lame one can walk fast enough, the blind
can see quite well, could make change if he had to.
Their signs, set aside, would speak their volumes
to the ground or guard rail: I’m an unemployed
homeless veteran, I have an inoperable brain tumor,
three sick children, and no way home. I’m hungry.
Anything will help. And, for some reason, they all
say, “God Bless,” as if divinely sent to bestow
His blessings on these minor transactions.
And, the cars keep coming to this stop, the light
phases them through slowly, the stray dollar bill
or two comes out in turn, weighs down the world,
this measure, this divide between haves and have-nots.
Intersections
They pause us on our way, a time to decide.
Some with stop signs, some with lights, and
There are others out there in the middle of
Nowhere, unmarked, mysterious, momentous.
We can turn left, hang a right, or keep on going,
Could even turn around and head back.
Sometimes it’s daunting to decide, and
Sometimes it’s amusing, but it’s always
Necessary; we can’t linger too long –
Intersections are never destinations.
And there’s always the guy behind us who
Keeps honking, hurrying the inevitable.
We can roll forward slowly, test our choice,
Imagine each, play out in our minds how one
Thing leads to another, how one choice can
Change everything, bring unfortunate outcomes.
And the guy behind us gestures wildly, as if he
Were able to change everything to fit his day.
Intersections hesitate us; delay our day in a way,
Give us a power over destiny, a perspective
Worth treasuring, worth measuring, the power
To sit still and control things just briefly.
And the guy behind us is behind us and must
Wait. We will eventually decide and move on.
Dream Poem
I saw my mother in a dream last night. She was standing just
inside the family room, over by the radio, near the kitchen door.
Actually, at first she was my grandmother, but when I stood
up from the couch and started toward her she turned into
my mother. She was dressed in her winter coat and that hat
she thought was so stylish and everyone hated. Her posture,
just the way she always held her hands together in front of her,
it was her.
Now, that may not seem like much really, but I have never seen
either of my parents before, like this, in a dream. I once ran down
a hallway in a dream trying to catch up to my father, but I didn’t
catch up and he soon disappeared in the crowd of strangers; my
dreams are usually filled with strangers, with people I don’t know
or care to know.
But last night my mother stood there and looked at me, looked as if
she were about to say something -- I remember that facial expression
so well – she was going to tell me something important, something
that made her a bit nervous to say.
For some reason at that moment I decided to call to my wife. I knew
my voice would sound funny – but I called out anyway, and Donna
shook my shoulder a bit, and my mother disappeared, and I was
back in my bed. I lay awake for a while. I was actually frightened, but
I’m not sure why.
In the morning when I told her about my dream my wife said she didn’t
remember shaking my shoulder – but anyway I woke up and I never got
to hear what she wants to say to me.
