Friday, August 13, 2010


our bland, middle class american 
stumbling around
wearies him.
he is so healthy, at 70 something,
and weary of his island life,
the years he drove the school bus,
and now the fund raisers for the library,
playing a clumsy lewis carroll 
to two rounds of applause
and a goofy jacob marley
delighting the kids.
he's tired of all that.
he wants monasticism and a woman in thrall.
he loves rachmaninoff and caol isla
finds great beauty in derelict merchants
hawking the boardwalk.
he rails at a gagged culture
that fails to nurture our nascent inner sweetness.
he doesn't see that he has it all.
doesn't know how to revel 
in the bounty of his own goodness,
the culture of his own soul.
the only culture we've got.
we don't just live out there.
we live in here, out there.

1 comment:

just another duck on the pond said...

only thing i don't like about these lines is that they are preachy and arrogant. pretty much gobs up the whole thing.