Two Poems

By Pete Reilly

Fourteen Bags

 

I cleaned out his trailer after he died.

It went quickly, 

and although he was never one to garden;

a pile of black plastic trash bags 

with bright red ties

grew near the street

like cartoon flowers. 

 

Fourteen bags is all it took

to clean up after him.

Fourteen bags 

filled with his life’s belongings.

There wasn’t much to save. 

 

A maintenance crew 

stopped by,

and hauled it all away;

happy to be on their way home

on an especially humid afternoon. 

 

 

I Want To Be

 

I want to be the man at the old age home 

who dresses himself in bright green polyester pants

each morning. 

 

The one who never forgets to comb his hair,

who parks his wheelchair by the nurses station,

where he teases the young women,

and they tease back playfully,

as they whisk away to their duties

on lovely, white, rubber soled shoes. 

 

And if they are busy, 

if they don’t have time for me;

I want them to push my chair over by the elevator,

where I can smile at the visitors

coming and going with colored balloons 

at the end of long strings,

clasping the hands of little boys, 

wide-eyed and frightened, 

visiting grandmothers 

who have forgotten their names. 

 

I want to be the one man

among the chatty old women 

who have outlived their husbands

playing games in the dayroom.

I want to swallow my cold coffee 

and whisper something intimate

to the woman with the bright eyes,

the one with the well-worn smile,

the one who looks back at me 

without hesitation.

Published December 2011