On Nate’s Sixty-Third Birthday
Can I help you, Little Girl?
Always ready to be of service.
A hand, a glass of water, a chair,
Hash-brown potatoes ready upon request.
Yet his soul is ever moving
Fed by a computer networked to all ideas
Left, right, red and blue
He comforts and cajoles his friends.
His clipboard always ready to receive
A poem, a memory, a story,
His books lie idle as he drifts
To another idea about religion or injustice.
His chest exposed to the golden Mississippi rays,
Plodding behind mower or pool brush,
His vision is beyond the curve, over the hill
Imagining unknown people and adventures.
Where are you going? Take me along
Your bike, your boat, your green machine.
Tell me a story I’ve heard a hundred times
Sing me a song, again.
I love you, Sandra