On the Porch

On the Porch

The winter sun is low

In the warmer afternoon.

I think about

What I sew.

Wispy clouds hang overhead,

The sky's tangled thread.

Snow melts to send

Rivulets of water

Down sides of the street.

Slight wind damage to the home

Next to me has peeled

The skirting down half the side

Which faces me with a reason

To call the office to complain.

No no no. I'm not that sort.

My complaints are about me.

They cover my eyes before sleep

To wonder about all my poor choices

And the basics of my gay life

Or lack of it now.

Old men need partners that began

In the warm days of life

When porches never needed me.

Sunny life follows those days

As two men should follow each other.

I lived in fear of everything around me.

Every thought was a question.

Then the day came I stood for myself.

It was just a minute.

Those seconds have guided these years

Into the quiet and alone.

I make my peace with those I hurt

Many mostly in silence.

There's no one to call.

There's no one to help with dishes

Or to share the handle of a vacuum.

Now the breeze gets colder.

The sun is deep in the West.

So I am needing to find some warmth

Off the porch to be forgotten.

Barry G.Wick