The Last Act
Because even he couldn’t walk forever
one day
the clown slumped at the roadside,
food for crows.
They found him delicious.
The clown was not really in a position
to resent this;
even if he were,
he would never begrudge the birds
their jolly feast.
Last Semester
With patient magnanimity
I listen to the children swear,
For I have seen the Power Glide,
And I have smelt the frigid air
I know just what the sing song says
When sung no longer among friends
And how the world is polarized
When last semester finally ends
The posturing, the funny ways,
The songs and dances learned by rote
Are pressed into an annual
And filed away with last year’s coat.
And then you are a failing clerk
Who overhears the children swear
While patient magnanimity
Fills up your head with frigid air
Lazarus
His heart jolts and he starts up bolt upright;
The atmosphere, pitch dark and stifling hot,
forces him stumbling to fresh air and light;
He gropes, then squeezes through a narrow slot
to sunshine that at first strikes him stone blind,
as roaring voices stun him with their cries;
He strives to focus his staggering mind
upon the shapes that swim before his eyes;
Between their jubilation and their terror,
the crowd around him shouts and mills and surges,
just as confused as he by warring urges;
They all sense they are caught up in some error,
until one calls: Come kiss your wife and daughter.
I will, he answers; First, I must have water.
Lute Upon the Shelf
A lute upon the shelf invited me
To take it from its place and try
Its tone, attempt a melody
Starting with low notes, climbing up to high;
Awkward, I played, stiffly my fingers ran
Along the fretboard, ending with a sigh;
Then I felt called back where the song began.
Strangely, the second time I tried the lute
It did not feel the same; In fact I swear
The second time I started from the root —
Such strange sensations — I became aware
That I was much more played than player there;
And magically, there could be no dispute,
The lute played me more than I played the lute.