Friday, October 10, 2008

It Must Be Love Because I'm Writing Him Poetry

For Dale

I will be for you
a pool of cool clear water
in a dry and dusty place.

On those hard days
those can’t take another days
those I’m too old for this days

I’ll be there
to take your body
take your skin
inch by inch as you ease in
And wash away the sweat and dirt.

And when you emerge
refreshed and renewed
you’ll be ready for the dust and heat again.

I will be for you
a pair of good old boots
that wear hard but feel like velvet slippers.

When you strike out on
an untraveled road, to see the view
from the top of that mountain, or to cut through the brush
to find a new path when the one you follow leads you nowhere good,

You can pull me on and lace me up
and I’ll take the punishment and give you sure footing
so you can enjoy the view and feel the sun on your shoulders
and the breeze that cools your brow.

And where you go, I’ll go with you.
And even be the pillow--however rough--for your head
so you can rest for the next day’s journey.

I will be for you
a dusty old bottle of wine,
a merlot, say, mellowed and glowing garnet in the firelight.

With me you can celebrate
a victory, however small. And I’ll be there to make sure that even a bland
meal will be memorable.

Your life won’t be some colorless affair. You won’t
have to take it all so seriously.

You may be inspired to smile and laugh whether you
want to
or not.

And that’s all well and good.

But keep in mind,

Some days, perhaps when you need it most,
an evil snake will be rippling the surface
of your cool clear pool.

And some days,
mud and filth will cake your
good old boots.

And some days,
bitter dregs will be all that’s offered
by your dusty old bottle of wine.

But don’t forsake the pool.
Don’t leave your boots behind.
Don’t toss the empty bottle in the trash.

Because I am me,
and not a pool
nor boots
nor a bottle of wine.

And we would both feel the pain
of that parting.

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