If you're bleeding on my block
I'll call an ambulance.
If you're hanging around the kebab truck looking broke
I'll spring for some kofta,
but I can't carry the world's weight--
my own is enough.
It's September and once again I take stock.
My trees are a little bigger--
I touch them with the flat of my hand as I pass
wishing them prosperity.
Sometimes a limb will fall;
I can see where the woodpeckers have been.
There are two different ones who visit--
are they the same ones as a year ago? Two years ago?
Am I the same as I was then?
Will someone call an ambulance for me one day?
One night driving home I ran over a skunk.
My dog killed a different one on a different night.
I felt bad, but kept my car, bathed my dog.
He is my seventh dog. This is my only life.
I've told it all, about the PTSD, the alcohol, the depressions,
and also about recovery, coping, finding joy where I can.
You want to talk about wars and rumors of wars.
Whose side am I on? Aren't I outraged? Don't I care?
It's September and the sky is that glorious rare blue.
The jays have been by, and the grackles.
I did not drink today or wake up screaming.
I did not consider methods of suicide.
I wish all of this for you, too, but peace
is too precious a thing and I'll only give what I can spare.
________
for What's Going On? --"Finding the Balance"