A POEM
It’s all right,
You did your work, gardener,
And so did you, hundred-year-old captain.
And you, carer of the sick, you did your work too.
Be content with that, be glad,
Take a rest and begin again.
Our paths cross and I recognize you,
Just as I recognize others, and yet others.
We aren’t kept separate
By unbearable suffering
Or dangerous streets or arid plains
Demanding to know what we’re up to.
Take a rest and begin again.
I look at the dead,
I look at the living.
We call up memories
And smile at the kids passing by,
And drink water from small cups.
If there’s any fig brandy around, we drink it,
With great gusto.
The chairs and the stools are their considerate selves,
Doing their work even in the bitter cold.
The motor-engines of the bus help us,
As do the overhead wires of the tram.
We lie on the ground and listen, open-mouthed,
To the crows and the blackbirds.
