I’m sitting
in a
room with
older people
and the
thing that
strikes me
is that
at this
age most
resemble children
honest innocent
and pure
I guess
that’s what
happens in
life age
becomes little
else than
our bookends
to the
lives that
we live
Rooms (for Bean)
Sometimes when I’m
in one room
it’s hard for
me to imagine
I have another
beyond that doorway
a different place
filled with things
colorful comfy things
just like I
suppose I do
when touching you
surprised to find
parts of you
that right now
I’d forgotten about
Scribble
I a book
filled with lines
but not words
just odd shapes
black and white
oh so blank
and you crayons
all different colors
in toddlers hands
neither more or
less important to
the other really
just different in
a way that
makes the other
something it’s not
Freight
A train moans
deep in disbelief
far off unseen
its bleat calling
and causing alarm
I am coming
I can’t stop
like some change
to my life
that was set
into motion long
ago by decision
and finally announced
dark and mysterious
baggage hitched behind
Punchline
I remember you
like a punchline
I didn’t quite
get that took
me a back
not a punch
below the belt
like a bump
around a blind
corner causing me
to become befuddled
off my game
and there it
was that you
then saw me
as more me
than I’d ever
let anyone see
me the punchline
of your joke
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 