max the pug sits in the late year 2003
on the front porch of his home as
warm afternoon light spills through the
bars and glass of this enclosed space,
light streaming in one might say,
while all other things maintain a stillness,
repose
an unfettered expectation.
to cross and re-cross the many rooms of our lives
requires maintenance and charm,
stamina and reserve,
affability and patience,
wherewithal.
i have forgiven the daylight but not entirely,
there are niches on this porch yet to discover
but there is a way of things
as seen in the foot traffic on the street:
boys running uphill to get in shape,
girls walking home with books in crossed arms—
each with a weary excitement slung in the shoulders
each with distinct face.
max sits inside the gated entryway
observing all such thing in his world.
coming home with groceries and no real plan,
driving and talking into cellular phone—
the obviousness here is a mask.
you will not always get what you need,
more, you will always have need.
you and others will speak further on this subject later.
for now, why don’t you get up and go for a walk?