Folks Just Being
Offered by Doug Blair, Kitchener ON, 2023There is a symphony going on each day.An interaction of strangers who have yet to learn much of their commonality, community, confidence, each one in the other. But it will, it does come to them.
I wonder why that Guy
Is just sitting there.
Bench on the busy June street
Port Dover.
Bikinis, babies, baskets and bustle.
He holds his walking stick
Straight up before him.
Like a walnut pillar
He smiles at passers-by
Gazes at the kids, happy
With their hot dogs or popsicles
Conversations between young
Couples strolling.
Snippets of those ingested.
Not for gossip or malice
But simply for the banquet
Of human endeavour, relish And relationship. News
Beats apartment blues
Every time.
No one sits beside him
Until some Lad, probably seven Plunks to re-tie his shoelace
Kid turns sideways, smiles
Thus begins a fifteen minute
Exchange of delight for both
Kid’s Mother sees, smiles
Talks to her Sister
At a nearby picnic table
She knows both men will profit
BecomingAcquainted
I don’t know you
But that fixed look of yours
Tells me you’re up
For conversation.
Alone, each one of us
In the coffee shop.
You with your Crossword.
I with my laptop and book of poems.
Finally, “Do you really like poetry?
I can’t get the hang of it.
Symbolism, wacky jolting words.
Don’t read much anyway.
Only the Sun and sports columns.
Seldom a Readers’Digest.”
(Well we won’t be following up with Wordsworth, Poe or Coleridge.
I think to myself.)
But here goes, “My name is Doug What’s yours?
I have seen you here the last Couple of mornings
Today outside, looks like a good one ”
Do you follow the Raptors?
As a kid basketball was my thing
Have been a couple of times
ToToronto games
Nice place
FarmWifeSadlyAlone,Troubled
ShewillhangthelaundryshortlyJustrightamountofwind.
Kidshavedepartedontheyellowbus.AdayinMaywhenAll seemsglowingandclean.
VegetablegardenJustputin.AlbertisatameetingofmenLeft early.Discussingstrategiesinpricingofcrops.
Corn,beans,canola.Hetookthelargertwohorsebuggy.She mightgoforaspinherself.Later.
TheoldfarmhousecreaksAsiftokeephercompany.
HelendowntheRoadwillbeextremelybusyAswell.Notimefor botheringher.
ShesingstoherselfSongsofWednesdays’Quiltinggroup.Her onlysociety.
ShecallstheDogforAdishofwaterThenopensthekitchendoor ForhisExodus.ShehasnoExodus.
ExceptinpreciousScriptures.OrsittingintheshadedSwingseat.
Lunchtime.Sketching,anddelightingInasandwichmadeWith lastOctober’spreserves.
DaughterKarenhadsharedintheCanning.NowKarenhasleft theLife.ThewayofMenno’squietpeople.
AboutahundredfortyyearsOutofdate.Butrighteous.
(PlightofmanyAmishwomen.Mennonites.)
(ANDSTILLWESEECHURCHGROUPSDOINGSO-CALLED MISSIONARYWORK,FLYINGTOELSALVADORWITHTOOLBOXAND
TRACTSANDTIMEONTHEBEACH,APPROACHINGSTRANGERS WHOSPEAKNOENGLISH.)
How many times we rushed to respond
To wicked attacks, with lessons from hacks
And touted wive's tales that usually fail
When all the while Jesus is waiting.
Waiting with power and pains He once bore
Risen from graves clothes to suffer no more
Fine Elder Brother just waiting to share
Healing and purpose and proof of His care.
