Musings of a Fool

My body mellows as the bee population
disappears at an alarming rate. The wind squalls,
closes in on me. The invasive lantern fly mills around
the tomato plant growing out of a crack in the cement.
I’ve lived in pursuit of doing the right thing. It’s like this:
as a small boy you giddy-upped on a spring-coiled horse,
rocked a Stetson hat & cowboy boots & gnashed
your teeth like a wild thing. You once pleaded,
don’t ever give up on me. Give up on you?
I’ve saved your stick figure drawings, a lock
of your first haircut & bronzed your Stride Rite shoes.
Give up on you? I would as soon give up on the long shadows
of the oak or the wind burning the willow. Even now
as twilight splinters through the dark & the ruby-winged
lantern bugs thrive, I’m a fool for God’s handiwork. Am I a fool
for believing I did the best I could? It’s not the living, but more
the forgiving as I draw near the waistcoat of my years.