Braving the Wilds

Field Notes from the Suburban Jungle

Tag: Living life to the fullest

Towing Caution in the Wind

Brothers in the boat declared
you’ve gotta commit to the turn,
cut it, rip it open, ignore your
instincts. If you ever really

want to be any good, you
have to be scared and do it anyway.
Heed-able advice from two bags of
injuries, fools, who regardless

seemed pretty damned content
in this second-hand vessel.
I used dish soap to pull the
stiff binding around a lumpy

Achilles’ tendon, jumped in,
grabbed the rope, and heard:
no Sunday drags here. No
bullshit. Time’s a-wastin’.

So I succeeded,
and failed. Under the water,
everything was quieter, and
tinted green, the sound

of the motor oddly distant
and tinny, light rippling
and bending with the water
a bit of my blood. Baptized,

breaking the surface, a brother
yelled, you got it! I cried
Uncle, crawled into the boat
like an exhausted amphibious

victor. Did you feel it, baby?
No one gets to call me baby,
I said, and though damn straight
I felt it. A joyous ordeal.

Stop being such a girl, said a brother,
winked, threw a towel at me
that had warmed dry in the sun,
and cooed, OK, Honey?

Penultimate Euphemism

When the Sonne shineth
Make Hay,  Whiche is to
Say,
Take Time When time
Cometh, lest time steale
Away.

John Heywood, A Dialogue Conteining the Number in Effect of all the Proverbs in the English Tongue, 1546

We’re burning daylight here,
When we should be making hay.
Why linger, lolly gag, dilly dally
Dwindle, piddle, procrastinate
Twiddle thumbs or amble along,
Tarry away, while away,
Take our sweet time while it burns?

We’re only here for a short visit,
Anyway, and opportunity
Is knocking loudly on the door,
Behind which the fat lady
Is warming up, trilling her
Scales, which are at a
Tipping point.

Can’t fritter away, vegetate,
Cogitate, kill time, horse around
On this boondoggle; time is ticking,
But that is that. It’s curtains for all
Of us, a done deal. The checkered
Flag is waving. We’ve saved up to
Buy the farm, a one way ticket,
Biting the dust on a permanent
Vacation. Elvis just left the building,
Dropped the mic, and
Is kicking a can, a bucket
To meet his maker and take a long
Nap with the fishes. He cashed in
His winnings, and is growing daisies
Now, retired. It’s past sunset.

We’re not ready to ring down the curtain,
Join the choir invisible;
We haven’t come to Jesus, on the other side.
Alas, just as sure as taxes,
We’re doing it,
And as we only have one,
We might as well
Get down to it.