A Life Litany

                                    
                                         
          version 1                        
                                          
                                  
Born in the cold                      
at the foot of a lake              
in a city of doubt           
    as a boy.                       
                              
At war with my genes               
and my brain and my heart,          
betrothed to the wind               
    as a boy.                       
                            
And so I declaimed                 
from the kitchen tabletop,         
debating my dad               
    as a boy.                    
                              
And slowly I grew               
enfolded in loves          
I could not understand         
    as a boy.                    
                          
The piano was large                     
and my fingers too short         
with measles my out              
    as a boy.                    
                           
My dad I am sure              
hoped/ I would replace      
the son they had lost              
    as a boy.                  
                            
But it wasn't to be              
for all I did learn,           
enthralled by my dreams         
    as a boy.                     
                                
Yet in scouting I climbed,
though not as in trees,         
to a safe second class        
    as a boy.               
                          
My lungs were too weak       
to allow me to swim             
a mere fifty yards          
    as a boy.                  
                        
Toward the arts and the crafts        
and the skies and the stars        
it was I was pulled               
    as a boy.                    
                             
So I dabbled with oils           
and the soundings of words,             
and birds, beasts, rocks, plants    
    as a boy.                          
                                    
Around year twelve I came                 
to a truth unprepared,            
a shock of adieu                
    as a boy.                          
                                 
Though I changed, I did not               
with the pleasure I hid:           
in confusion remained          
    as a boy.                      
                             
Years earlier, away              
on my trike, I chose risk:         
broke nose; skewed collar bone        
    as a boy.                    
                              
And still to this day,          
though I'm now sixty-eight,         
I work, rest, pray, play         
    as a boy.                        
                                         
                                         
          2009/06/08             
                                         
                                          
                                           
                                       
                                        
                                         
tg00036