J.K. Durick- Three Poems

                      Straightening up

 

We learn this early, or perhaps never at all,

The fine art of putting things away when we

Are through, restoring, replacing, cleaning up

After the meal, the party, even simple things

Need this finishing touch, order restored, as if

What happened didn’t happen at all, as if we

Turn back time, return to the way things were

Before the plan became preparation and then

Moved on to whatever left a mess like this, we

Either live with things as they are, or we move

Against them, we start placing them properly

Putting them in their place, cleaning, arranging

Bringing a bit of order to the disorder we made

Being our other self, a bit careless, a bit clumsy

Our active, lovable preoccupied selves, author

Of messes, builder of clutter, heap and tangle

That too busy spokesman for chaos in all of us;

We divide the roles, the labor involved in it,

We muddle and unmake, leave candy wrappers

And empties, disarrange the furniture, fill

The sink with dish after dish, leave clothes and

Footwear enough to dress an army, lights on

And then we turn on ourselves and begin to undo

Pick up, straighten and set it all right once more.

             The Things

 

There are things we have waited for

wished for, longed for, were certain

we could not live without, absent

things we imagine into being ours

just around the corner things, things

just out of our reach, tomorrow’s

things, tantalizing, tempting things

tormenting and enticing things;

we plan and plot for them, polish

up for them, know they are coming

it’s just a matter of when or where

or how they will arrive, at the door

or on the phone, or through the mail,

and then when they’re finally with us

when the waiting and wishing and all

that imagining have finally borne fruit

we sit back satisfied, admiring them,

our fulfillment, our accomplishment

now they have arrived, we have arrived,

but then we get a bit bored, the things

we have get dusty, rusty, begin to wear

begin to be ironic reminders of times

when we knew what we wanted, needed

and waiting gave us something to do.

                      Dog Shit

 

Back then, there was something inevitable

about it, part of being young, part of taking

shortcuts, of crossing any lawn, part of being

clumsy, of step -misstep, of hurrying, of just

being around; dogs ran loose back then, part

of the background, the everyday, wagging or

barking, growling or howling, plenty of warning

except where to step, but we learned early

took it in stride, an inevitable bit of business

dragged our shoe through the grass, a stick

would work, a hose if handy, it wasn’t a slow

process, just part of getting home, not wanting

to leave a trail behind us; when we stepped

in it, we really did and then moved on, but

now we hear other dogs from inside their

house, sound and fury at our passing by, as

we trail behind our dogs, bags in hand, on

the alert for a pause in their progress; we

live in such a sanitary world, our dogs and us,

in a world where the shit we face is more

figurative than literal, where when we step

in it, more is sullied than just a shoe, where

cleaning up is far more complicated than

that inevitable rite of passage, that was so

simple to undo, or even simply step around.

 

 

 

J. K. Durick is a writing teacher at the Community College of Vermont and an online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Eskimo Pie, Pacific Poetry, Ink Sweat and Tears, and Muddy River Poetry Review.