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Solstice past. Julian New Year’s in the offing.
Late evening. Dark. Light wind.
Thin overcast. Thin waxing crescent moon.
No turtledoves, hens or partridges in sight.
Two nearby owls exchange information.
Snug in the schoolbus I came here in
— ‘51 60-passenger Bluebird
International, dual rears,
two-speed split-gear rear end,
BLD 269 straight six —
and fifty years later still read, write, sleep in
and in certain moods think how it might be
someday a kind of tunnel tomb replete
with bric-a-brac, tools, utensils, books:
emblems of a life once lived aboveground.
Too many missing from this year’s mailing list.
Looking back I’m humbled to remember
how many stupid things I’ve done and survived
how many people I could have done better by
how good so many have been to me.
Copyright 2023 Michael Gregory
Michael Gregory’s many publications include Pound Laundry. He works as an environmental activist in Arizona.