 |
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|
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There is an old man |
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inside of me; |
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maybe he is the future. |
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|
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Sometimes he shows
up in my dreams; |
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sometimes, |
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the plot kills him
off. |
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|
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Then shock and sadness |
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for might-have-been, |
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for tragedy, loss. |
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He is also my present— |
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a warning of deep
shame, |
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rage, haughtiness. |
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|
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He shows up in the
border regions |
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of meditative torpor |
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looking down his
nose at me. |
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Once in a while he
seems to give good advice, though, |
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with his far-off
voice and |
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ambiguous, barely-caught
phrases. |
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|
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He tells me where
to call inside myself, |
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what to say, |
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how to heal our strained
relationship. |
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|
|
|
Peter Hulen, Angry
Old Man |
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