Poem: "The Common"

 

Where mom tracks
at the edges of her awareness
the journey of her little sailor
who stumbles and falls
and arises laughing
steps from an unhearing wino
wearing his grime like sunblock
there on his bench which
he has come to own today

Where the wind inspires
the fresh cut grass
to shimmy and shake
and leaf heavy limbs
to perform tai chi
or whatever it is
that instructs in the art
of moving in place
and gracefully never getting
anywhere at all

This instantiation of heaven
on earth which is not different
from the heaven of eternity
or of Sunday School
or even the one that is nothing
but a carrot on a stick

Where students gather
to play games
for that reason alone
which must be why this game
is called an ultimate form
distinguished by discs
spinning floating drifting
and bodies
dropping catching leaping

In this heaven of willful amnesia
far from the torts and equations
the calculated curricula
and all the administrative structures
that can never get comfortable
in this intentionally random place
where I daily come to sit and
kill some time


M. Bogen
1990s / 2024