Sunday, May 31, 2020

While Sharpening a Knife
on an East Facing Porch


The Taverns miss me;
The Whiskey hopes 
I have not taken ill.


They don’t know 
I’d be home anyway
Drinking my special tea.


The Mountain does not miss me;
It sees me from there,
Knows that I am healthy.


The trout are grateful for the respite.


How do I know what the fish feel?
Go ahead and ask me,
I’ve been waiting all day 
For this very question.


The crows do not care what I do.
My mandolin riles the songbirds.
The Squirrels are busy
Chasing squirrels.


The herbs in the garden are glad I am here.


They do better for more grazing.
The lush bed of Oregano
Has made my arms and head fragrant.


In the first place 
Where I lived on my own,
Rooms and a gross shared kitchen in South Philly,
I would sit on the stoop
With a fifth of whiskey, a knife
And a hone
Listening to the Rolling Stones
While I learned to feel the bevel
Through the sharpening stone.

* My special Tea is mint, rosehips, licorice and elderberry.

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