10-16-47 to 03-28-04
Leith Hunt March 20, 2004
Like most men my age
I spend early mornings in my robe, on the roof,
Intimidating owls, and throwing rocks at the setting moon.
After coffee with two sugar scoops,
I, like most men my age, feed the fish, dust the pathways, tuckpoint the fencing
And mend the battlements
That have decayed in the night.
Like most men my age,
I apologize each morning
To all the women in my house
For what I may have said on the day before.
About the taste of the soup, the tenderness of the meat,
Or, perhaps, the setting of the thermostat
And if money grows on trees.
I am most earnestly sorry.
Like most men my age,
I also regret, and ask forgivness from those whose names
I may have forgotten in last night�s supper Grace,
Hoping that they understand that it takes all the courage I can muster
Simply to raise my own name to God, let alone theirs.
But I�ll continue to do the best I can.
Also, like most men my age, I look forward to some time alone,
To ponder matters of small importance.
It�s why we shape decoys, and fashion reeds to attract wild turkeys.
It�s why many men of my age build ice shacks and drag them out
Over frozen lakes, to sit over a small-drilled hole with a few beers
Seeking the company of fish as lonely as we are.