At The End Of A Long And Varied Career

As a child, I rang doorbells and ran off,
leaving boxes full of electric rain clouds
and flaming bushes that recited verse.
When I grew up, I went into construction,
underbid on a contract. Rebuild
the temple in three days?
I thought they’d crucify me then
and there, but I went bankrupt instead.
I took a teaching gig, had some luck
as a commercial fisherman. I lost
a bartending spot because I misunderstood
“Water down the wine.” I became
a financial consultant, showed folks
how to stretch a little bread.
Resurrected! I am
in semi-retirement, unsure
what comes next. I’ve tried gardening before,
but I had a problem with snakes and weeds
that choked and poisoned my favorite flowers
and broke my heart. Now I’m taking up golf,
dimpling the world to my tee. “Fore!” I call,
but no one ducks and no one answers.
No one understands the word I’m saying,
just like they never understood the word
that was, was with me, was me,
in the beginning. Let there be more
to eternity than morning-noon-night, repeat.
Than lather-rinse repeat. Than
wax-on, wax-off and still get beat up.
Let the sky fill with helium balloons,
brand new colors, and full-throated warblers,
brand new songs. So say I.

Copyright © 2006 Tom C. Hunley All rights reserved
from The American Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission