Northern Breeze, May

I.

A northern breeze in May,
so rare, a calm dry evening,
with few pests
and even fewer worries
that my natural bent does typically incline.

Anything He asked of me
I did without restraint or protest.
Not that it was much anyway
but to enjoy the weeds I pulled
and hips I snipped
and turfy sleekness underfoot.
In the water, kayak fishers were unsuccessful,
and so was I.
All these years.
It didn’t matter.
Hands thorned and grime,
yard brown in patches,
child playing in the street
wife lounging on a seat –
how? oh how, should I, dear God,
worst of all men and faithless
be so blessed by Him I spite?

II.

The bridge

to the other

side of that beyond

is missing many planks,

and for good

reason

too.