Submitted by Gary Glauber
He climbs to a new depth,
pondering loss with a million
small deliberations & gestures,
so convinced that this hollow keening
heard in distant wind addresses him.
Mrs. Savon still scowls as he passes,
peering from behind jalousied window.
She waggles an untoward aged finger,
& curses the same fates
for entirely different reasons.
This is the labor of neighborly judgment,
like when Brownstone’s uncle
played Santa at the holiday gathering
with pungent whisky breath
before eventually wetting himself
in a dark & lonely corner.
The whispers of condemnation
were all clearly audible then.
Now the hot pink of Heisel’s azalea
suggests he should reconsider:
perhaps fickleness is an
act of nature, the vibrancy of the new
tempting us from staid horizons
into shuddering wilderness
of heightened expectation.
Beauty is temporary, fleeting,
a salvo that propagates passion
with its initial cannon flare,
yet rocks our imprudent courage
as it whizzes by into distracted memory.
Fumbling for keys,
he opens screen door
seeking refuge from himself.
About the Poet
Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, teacher, and former music journalist. His two collections, Small Consolations (Aldrich Press) and Worth the Candle (Five Oaks Press), and a chapbook, Memory Marries Desire (Finishing Line Press), are available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and directly from the publishers.