Recompense

As sure as the flies at the evening window
are drawn to my light and my wine,
these things are given to us.
The marble feet in the desk drawer,
the tarnished bugle on the book shelf,
an Underwood typer in the closet.
Remingtons on buck’s opening day,
Nikons on family holidays.

The pages my jealous grandfather
made his girlfriend cut out of her diary
that mentioned any other boy but him.
But Grandma, ever the shrewd one,
hid them away and can still
fetch them seventy years later.

She is still waiting
for the roll to be called up yonder,
on the day we’ll all fly away,
after decades spent bringing in the sheaves.

BAF
last day of November 2008