JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Morning. Nothing more important to do today

than walk the dog, eat breakfast, drive into town,

buy mouse traps. Weather’s gray again,

temperature’s dropping.

 

On the other side of the ocean, old friends are

struggling in their last embraces. Reluctant

to leave, they whisper quietly from hospitals

and curtained bedrooms. Families gather round

tending, comforting.

 

The telephone just whistled. Photos of the

grandchildren arrive, smiling and mischievous.

soon there’ll be more on the way.

 

The weeping willow that once stood green at the

end of our garden has long since become only a

memory to b viewed in photo albums. In its place

stand fruit trees; apricot, plum, pear and a walnut

under which we discovered yesterday ten wrinkled

brown gifts. Christmas will soon be upon us again

as it has arrived caroling and ambivalent through

half a century of frost bitten winters.

 

Drive carefully we say as guests go out to their cars.