Morning Ride

Last Monday morning

On a rusting 10-speed

I rode along the cold St. Lawrence

Under an iron bridge built first for locomotives.

That drips now with drivers in 

Corollas and Fords moving along like

Dead corpuscles

Towards men with cufflinks

Who like to say “Seek creative solutions....

...lest problems become self-fulfilling prophecies”.

 

The grey Vietnamese man

With a bucket and rod, hoping to bring home a

Fifteen-pound carp 

To his daughter

Who adds cornstarch and rolls fish balls that

She places in a tray.

The passengers in the white liner watch him 

As they embark on the

Must-see spectacle of the changing leaves.

No, not over there

In the clump of sumac

Where the discarded men sleep

In shelters fashioned from ripped plastic.

 

After the apocalypse

I’ll share my bread with them

Made from cattail flour

Baked on their campfires.

Reviews

[. serah .]

-- suddenly, i'm not feeling so bad about being kicked out of the 'corporate' world and living in near-complete isolation for so many years... -- there's a longing for simplicity in this piece which is heartbreaking... and i sincerely hope that my presence (the simplicity of having an adult child in the premises because the child didn't make it in the outside world) means something to my parents... -- my life could well be described as life "after the apocalypse"... -- excellent work... i was able to relate to it in a very personal way...

[Nisreen]

The contrast here between the men in shelters and those in business attire

how close they can be and yet worlds apart

makes one wonder if words ever deliver meaning

only you confirm something a true act of kindness
is the only thing ever heard

beyond empty words and promises

beautiful

[Cryingkate]

Awesome ! .......................

[...]

Ya, me too...I love this, Frank

[J.P. Bristow]

I absolutely loved this piece .....it was beautifully gritty.......like a stone in your shoe or rain on a sunny day. Great write.

[Penlady]

....looking forward to sharing at the campfire....I hope all is well with you and that your daughter is progressing in treatment toward better health...I, like you, am involved with ill health since my second daughter has been suffering breathing problems...We just must keep up for each other in this life...hope all the best for you..

[Penlady]

All in the same boat then, huh? This is an exquisitely sensitive poem. Oops I keep coming back, just love this poem.

[The Analog Kid]

Some nice imagery or your travels. You pay homage to the less fortunate and I was amused at the "men in cufflinks."

[Muse]

When I read you...it's like the adult version of

Where the Side Walk Ends

It's raw real and surreal. Sometimes humorous...sometimes scary. Thank you for another thought-provoking write.

Muse

[J]

this brought a 'gasp' of appreciation for the ridiculously obvious fine line that separates the 'them' from the 'us.' it will soon be self evident when they canna comprehend the rash on their backsides or the art of violating a raccoon's territory when they gotta pee. i'm dying to see the worth of those cuff links when breakfast doesn't appear under a silver dome. ;)