Pony

There are three reasons to wake up in the morning.

One is a shadow with words written in the past.

The other is a sign on a wall by a pub in a foreign language.

And the third is to see where you are.

And if you follow the stairs along the wall

you will find a reason to enter. A club with music.

I lived once. And now I simply wait. I find it humorous.

You don’t understand. A linguist will steel your cat on a bet.

A poet will go for the heart. And what have I done?

I am not sure yet. I would wake to find a room and wonder

where I was. Not from confusion from drinking. I have been sober for

forty years. My life needed sobriety. My life needed dedication.

I had no wife or children. I had a house but no home. I had no dedication to

a Nic Nac. Or a Christmas. I had no brother or sister, aunt or uncle, mother

or father. But put me within reach of a painting, of a piano, of a guitar and I

was there for as long my schedule allowed. Like a child in love with

everything and impressed with the beating of his own heart and the

happiness of his soul.

I did something important and kept it secret. I worked on the fraying

of society as an advisor. The fraying that we are seeing now.

And now I am free of memories of what I worked on. The past

is completed and shut. And I know only that what we see, could

have been much worse. I came in 6 years ago in Trauma

only having my name and my past and a library of languages.

So what is this poem? Just so you know me a little.