Meander 1 Poem -- Call the Kids for Dinner, Dear --
Summer sidewalks shimmer heat.
The men come home from the mills,
Black lunchboxes,thermoses rattle
Against the empty sides.
Dinner's cooking, smells in the air,
Cabbage, spaghetti, meatloaf, potatoes.
Call the kids for dinner, dear.
My father, bald, hawked beaked,
Walks to the wooden porch,
T-shirt, scooped neck,
Pittsburgh gray
Beats his chest in Tarzan cry,
Calling his kids for dinner.
Why does he have to yortle so?
Flushed, red and not from the sun,
I sneak, slink to the backyard door
So no one knows he's my old man.
Meander 2 - Knees - Last week I took a spill and managed to hit my knee of the concrete. There's a brushburn that hurts but is healing. The real problem is my study is on the second floor. My ailing husband and the kitchen are on the first floor. This means every time I need something found, I must go down the seventeen steps. This is not quickly done. Someone asked why I didn't move to the first floor for the time being. Two reasons. Moving the computer and printer will take too much work. Also I couldn't work to the strains of CNN and all the rotten news occurring. At least now I can go up stairs in a more normal wal. Still slow but i figure another week and I'll forget the joys of being a klutz.
Meander 3 - Writing - Am now starting to type the last written draft and after this there will be only one more and that is an editing draft. Then the story will be done. Then I'll start another. Writers live on a circular path.
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