10 October 2013

Touchstone Undertone

Touchstone Undertone
7 October 2013

At the gym while my body was busy,
My mind ranged free to supposition,
Thinking about what the future will be
And came up with a proposition.
Traditionally, my high school class
Has a reunion once every ten years.
So far we've met four times en masse.
Accounting for life expectancy, my dears,
We'll probably meet only thrice more.
If you knew you were only going to see me
Three times before going thru death's door,
How would you greet me?
How would you treat me?

Life's so unpredictable and very uncertain,
We don't know what the future will bring
And what will happen before the final curtain,
So let's include everyone under our wing.
We can do this by smiling at everyone,
Especially at others we don't know.
There doesn't have to be any reason
Just let our love and respect show.
How many more times are you going to see them?
Why not behave like crème de la crème?
How would you greet them?
How would you treat them?

07 October 2013

Trading Post Meaning Diagnosed

Trading Post Meaning Diagnosed
2 October 2013
Inspired by an article by Steve Simpson published in the San Juan Record.

Heavy rains made for lots of weeds
Growing around the trading post.
I procrastinated due to pressing needs
Until weeding became foremost.
So I was sitting on a box in which milk's crated
Extracting goat-heads and cheat grass,
When a restored '69 Chevelle decelerated.
As it parked, the stereo's output mass
Was so loud that Every People by Family Stone
Could be heard, "There is a yellow one
That won't accept the black one,
That won't accept the red one,
That won't accept the white one."
The hippie winked, switched off the engine
And headed into the cafe for his day to begin.
Next, a car that had seen better days
Stopped close to where I sat pulling weeds.
Out stepped two women of stylish Navajo ways.
"Which direction to the woman of weaving deeds?"
"She lives over there," pursing my lip
And indicating south to the Reservation.
One woman explained she had a kinship,
But there had been decades of social privation.
This woman had moved away to live among the "whites."
"Really, you left us to live with those guys?"
"Yes, I married one and my grandkids are urbanites.
Disappointment must have shown thru my eyes.
Portuguese ancestry gives me darker skin, that's true,
Or maybe it was the way I pointed with my lips,
She looked at me in earnest, "Well, they're people too."
The women left to continue searching for relationships.
A few minutes later the hippie strolled out.
Then as he backed away, his stereo kicked in
"We got to live together," rock and rolled out.
It crossed my mind that insight often clicked in
At unexpected times from an uncommon emissary
And I should give my attitude a new itinerary.