A Memory of Whales–by Ken

Seasonal

Enough with the trash talk already,
I’m for outside,
For the deck and what’s left of summer,

          Flowers still, tubulars, fully leafed trees,
          But what about them
                 When the whole show fades and falls?

Talk about a downer,

Ashen wind riffs in this dry realm,
They will blow through me
Like a snarling straining saxophone,
Raspy and wild,

    I want a breath of coastal  Mexico,
    I want the memory of whales
             Rolling through my mind,
                  Their backs gliding by in lifts and dips,

     That’s when everything becomes unfathomable to me
     And belief returns like joy to my heart,
     Gulls glide through, dark frigates 
           Sail away, out of sight, I take a sip
              And breathe as  fully
                   As wave lifts to crash down in silken foam,
                        Everything’s bubbling and  silvery,

     My head hurts now, my steps are faltering,
     I stumble as I shift around,
     I’m always looking for a hold,

     Look away, my man, look away while you can,
     This is the crumbling downside everything becomes,
     Think of the season, my friend,
     It is your time now too,

A Poem by Ken McKeon