Phone in hand, he shouts and shouts.
The wrecked ground is swelling, but
cavorting children are unperturbed.
I am struggling with his weight, imagining
dark thingamajigs bringing us down.
But his wink reassures me; he is not sweating.
He carefully tends his sheep, juggles his words;
yet, see, small children are hungry and wounded,
deep holes are sucking, entrapping.
I am struggling with his blindness.
Always he forgets and each day is a birth.
But I was born long ago and the questions unsettle
my century again and again.
I am a former librarian, currently teaching children in New York and Ghana, Africa. I am also working on English with adult ESL students. I have published a number of poems and a book of poetry, Toward Freedom.