The Beckoning Bayou

 They say that people who routinely put things off

Are mostly perfectionists (cough, cough)

Who are afraid

Of committing to wade

Into that big swamp

Where the frisky gators chomp,

Where uncertain wrestling

Presents the distressing

Prospect of possible flopping. 

How pleasant, then to be stopping

And waiting 

And contemplating 

Despite the fact that what is needed

Is something more like rushing unheeded 

Into the murky slime

Tackling, perhaps, one gator at a time,

Probably starting first

With the one who looks like the worst.

Anniversary

It is hard to maintain perspective 

When a person holds your heart for decades

And perhaps there’s no point in trying. 

Entangled love, undying,

Yields a close up view,

Unique for you. 

And stepping back to be more objective 

Is an exercise defying

Common sense,

Especially since

It’s big inside another human being. 

There’s always something more to be seeing. 

For better or worse

It’s like another universe,

Which somehow bends

A gravitational lens 

Into your own,

So that a similar dizzying close up view

Of you

Is shown

To your partner alone. 

Grandchildren

Grandchildren, I love you dearly, 

But let me tell you sincerely 

 I’m seriously glad 

You’ve got a mom and dad 

To take the lead on your care. 

 Since I would spoil you and make you bad, 

Which would be extremely unfair. 

 So let them lay down their rules, 

And pay for your room and board, 

While we play together like fools, 

Which sometimes is the subtlest form of school.