Windingly I Will Arrive

Windingly I Will Arrive

I apologize for coming so late,
the traffic was schismatic, and, as has
always
been my custom,
I did what I was told right up until now.
I promise, though,
I will be there by the day after tomorrow;
I swear I will make up for the time I spent away.

The blame does not lie outside me,
the choices were all mine. And everyone who
knows me
can stipulate that I never meant harm to anyone.

But looking in the mirror, seeing the headlights on my tail,
the tears of my ambitions were wiped from the windshields,
and fell on the highway behind us all.

The thunder clashed with my intentions,
the storm wrecked every itinerary on the way.
My father used to say that shortcuts were only
the longer road to get somewhere fast. I never found
one.

But, windingly I will arrive, pennies in my pockets,
pebbles in my shoes, gravel in the tire treads, and,
slightly embarrassed and more amused that
I could have walked across the street 40 years ago
to see you the way
I see you
today.

Winding Up

Winding Up

(“Brothers and sisters, do not be children in your thinking; rather, be infants in evil, but in thinking be adults.” 1 Corinthians 14:20)

Winding up another campaign to amass the anger
of minds that have leaned too long upon
provincial haze and
parochial obsessions

The speaker granted one question:

“Who, sir, do you answer to?”

Incomplete candor settled like coal fumes from a grade-school furnace,
while the answer quivered, a bird without a wing, and the inquisitor
waited. Not willing to pounce and certainly not a predator,
he tossed the question for an easy layup. But

The question hung above the rim, the speaker could not discern
if he was defense or offense. Swipe the question from the air or
finish with a full sweep of his arms. Bring the house down or

Bring

The House

down?

It takes at least three cups of coffee to finally understand the hue
of the other, the shade of another, and rescue ourselves from corners
of shadow into wall-less

Dances of light.