"In The Lap Of A Stranger"

In the Lap of a Stranger

A young man is bending
Over an old man
Lying on a street corner
At the busiest intersection
Of the city.
Homeless or drunk, I can't tell which,
But there are hundreds of us passing
And only one man stops,
Cradles that dirty head
Between his knees.

It's the soles of the shoes
Turned up that make me want
To turn away—so small!
The feet pointing like arrows
Straight up and motionless,
And the crosswalk box's little man
Walking in his mechanical way,
As if on a treadmill,
And the man not walking,
Not getting up.

When the light changes,
We all drive through,
Going forward into appointments,
Shopping and errands like a future,
Choosing the crispest head of lettuce
At the grocer's, which will taste
Particularly sharp tonight.
Glad for awhile it wasn't us
Saying our goodbyes
To our one and only life, in public,
In second-hand clothes,
Easing through the ethers
Into the afterlife
From the lap of a stranger
We've probably made late.

- by Karen Whalley

This Shining Moment In The Now

When I work outdoors all day, every day, as I do now, in the fall,
getting ready for winter, tearing up the garden, digging potatoes,
gathering the squash, cutting firewood, making kindling, repairing
bridges over the brook, clearing trails in the woods, doing the last of
the fall mowing, pruning apple trees, taking down the screens,
putting up the storm windows, banking the house—all these things,
as preparation for the coming cold...

when I am every day all day all body and no mind, when I am
physically, wholly and completely, in this world with the birds,
the deer, the sky, the wind, the trees...

when day after day I think of nothing but what the next chore is,
when I go from clearing woods roads, to sharpening a chain saw,
to changing the oil in a mower, to stacking wood, when I am
all body and no mind...

when I am only here and now and nowhere else—then, and only
then, do I see the crippling power of mind, the curse of thought,
and I pause and wonder why I so seldom find
this shining moment in the now.

by David Budbill

Not that long ago . . .

Changing Diapers by Gary Snyder

How intelligent he looks!
on his back
both feet caught in my one hand
his glance set sideways,
on a giant poster of Geronimo
with a Sharp's repeating rifle by his knee.

I open, wipe, he doesn't even notice
nor do I.
Baby legs and knees
toes like little peas
little wrinkles, good-to-eat,
eyes bright, shiny ears
chest swelling drawing air,

No trouble, friend,
you and me and Geronimo
are men.

Getting Kinda Hungry, Too

The missus is spending the week traversing our gentle giant to the north - a few days in Vancouver, a couple in Edmonton - so I laid in my equivalent of hurricaine provisions: a five-pound bag of pistacchios and two quarts of rocky road.  Turned the a/c down to 68, put all the toilet seats up, and plopped down in the blue chair, worshipping at the pedestal of Sweet Sir Sony, wondering why no one has yet introduced Tuesday night football?  Step up America!  Opportunity knocks!

Will go out to the lake this afternoon with Greggy, see if the boat is still floating.  Too cold already to jump in and scrub the pontoons.  Prolly just crank up the music and offend fellow marina mates.  Arrgh!  Should have gone yesterday, International Talk Like A Pirate Day!

Trying to get a new building off the ground for the Tribes.  They're making it as difficult as possible, what with tribal hiring regulations, artifact and antiquity discovery requirements. 

Met with new car wash tenant, who opened his Mercedes' trunk for some reason, in which I espied about a hundred pair of Nikes, still in their boxes.  <sigh>  The names change, but the faces stay the same.