when I bow

I thought I’d share one of the poems I read at the open mic in Ocean Beach last night. As my Friday weather,

when I bow

when I bow 

you bow with me 

the trees are smiling

and puffy clouds play, 

something, 

like a rosy ring thing, 

A kid game, and 

when I bow there I am

it’s yesterday and last year 

And a Thursday in ‘57, 

bouncing a ball off the slanted roof 

of the big white house 

just off Cape Cod, 

an eye on the iris 

in my mother’s garden, yeah,  

multitasking, 

though not when I bow .

And when I bow all the birds, 

In a 12-mile radius, 

hover, just a silent moment, 

flapping those magical wings, 

and if birds smile 

they’re all smiling again – 

See that Dude who feels it necessary 

to bow to everything, 

last I heard (says just one bird)

bows to his birth certificate too, 

calls it ancient, 

and bows to goofing like a 10-year kid, 

hiding behind doors 

to jump out, 

And scare unsuspecting neighbors. 

Why the flock by the beach 

calls him the Halloween kid, 

which, it goes without saying, 

he’s bowing to all Hallow’s Eve. 

and to what they call Christmas – 

having the space, 

birth certificate or no, of considering

nice things for others. 

What it’s all about, 

kindnesses, 

a bird heard him say. 

Heard him say 

between all them bows.