The subject was cruelty but I didn't know it
then. I was more concerned with escape,
always on the lookout for a new place to be born.
My father was a traveler too.
If comfort's all you want out of life,
he warned, it's all you'll get.
I want love, I was too ashamed to tell him. Acceptance.
Desire is the source of all sorrow, the Buddhists say.
What to make of that?
Makes me think of the two words
Bukowski has etched into his tombstone:
"Don't Try."
I like to think I make hard times look easy
by avoiding the subject. But some things remind me:
flashing blue and whites in the rearview,
tomcat with a wounded bird, a nerd on dodgeball day.
Wine and cigars lend a temporary peace, a helping hand.
And sometimes odd mercy, a grace note,
the kindness of strangers, even the ones I know.
Andy Roberts