Pencil Me In

Pencil Me In

(“Know that the LORD is God. It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.” Psalm 100:3)

Every club I venture application loses
all exhilaration by the first meeting I finally
attend (after knocking off three or four reasons
for putting off opening the door to a basement
or unused restaurant room smelling like rainy season.)

The usual u-shape, folding tables and plastic whitecloth,
the chairs back-to-back down the middle and the hamslice,
potato cheese, and coffee chilled in the cold cups left out
since the morning rush:

They are all fine people and never complain about the food,
although occasionally they mention the desserts leave something
to de desired,

And I know it is me, and not their traditions;
my apprehension, and not their conditions
that leave me eating alone at my desk (I call it
“more work than I can manage).

Golfing leagues pray for my slice,
bowling leagues are great guys, but the vests are weird,
and the shoes are smeared with antiseptic prevention.
All the service clubs want my attention,
then try to scoot me to their annual convention
with more guys where wear vests and buttons
and shake hands in very good faith.

So I know it is me, and not their expectations;
my silhouette, never their accusations
that leave me wanting to see
Shields and Yarnell at Union Square again.

Call me a loner, I’ll understand, (it takes me
months to call someone for coffee)
I will take my lumps; I know mud, I know sand,
and I remember play dough oozing through my hands.

Those are my thoughts while I await the reading
of the last meeting’s minutes and the not-so-bad
rhubarb muffins.