Man with Walker

Man with Walker

We saw him there—a balmy sort of night,

Not all that strange: It still seemed vaguely right.

October’s not the cruelest month, you know?

(An Eliot allusion adds a glow?)

No, that’s his sibling April, in whose air

The winter often hides. We see the glare

Of sun and blue, and some returning green—

And out we go to feel what we have seen,

Where laughing winter waits with fangéd breath

And gives us bitter bites of bitter death.

The supper hour, we knew, was over when

We saw him there—out on the walk. The men

Who live there, most of them, were still inside,

Not moving far from chair or bed. Oh, I’d

Not seen this man before. He fiercely gripped

His walker—urged it on, ignored the script

Whose stage directions placed him in a chair

Beside a friendly fire. He didn’t care.

The evening was so mild. And he would go

Outside. And move. Oh, sure, he’d keep it slow

And safe. He would not really risk a fall,

But can you call yourself alive at all

If you just sit and wait for Death to come—

Just sit there, ever sedentary, numb

To what is left? The possibility

Of sun—a setting one for sure? For me,

I do not like to think that I would sit,

But I am mobile now, and I admit

That if I could not move—or barely so—

I’m not so sure that I would do a thing

But wait to see what darknesses will bring.

And so I’m back where all of this began—

Admiring the mere courage of this man.

We volplaned down into a field,

And there we learned: Not all crops yield.

Shakespeare Couplet:  Romeo and Juliet (15)

Mercutio riffs at length on wee Queen Mab.

About that famous speech there’s nothing drab! (1.4)