Sketches - 37 (October 14th, 2014)

37.

Wind pushes at the walls and

eves of the old timed home

in Omaha’s west side neighborhood

where I work.  

I do home care - take blood

pressures, document weight

fluctuations and when or  

whatever comes knocking, do

everything in my power to

make the client I have

as comfortable as possible.

When the wind blows it tosses

the trees around and their

shadows strobe and flit-filter

the sunlight onto the floor

of the room.  My client has

outlived his friends, outlived

the idea of what everyone

thought America should be -

          outlived the depression,

          the wars and all the

          stale prosperous years.

and yet for all that is one

of the happiest grittiest

souls I've ever known.

I sense the drought coming -

          not too far off now

and the weight of all those

memories of that abysmal drive

pushing on purposeless

between Denver/Omaha, feeling

its shadow coming in

from the western expanse of

deserts and odd shaped zig

zag coast lines.  Its started its

attack and wages its sentences

in that twisting lower lurch

certainty that there’s really

nothing out there and being

startled when that nothing knocks at the

             freshly painted door

             as tacky and gloom-new

             as time itself.

(October 14th, 2014)

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