In memory of Robert Frost
|Doing a quick trot across the highway,
Trying not to shake the beer I carried,
I ducked into a patch of leafy woods.
Moving carefully among the briars,
Removing one only to be grabbed by another,
A droplet of blood rested on my hand.
Irritated by these vines grabbing my elbows,
I struggled with my beer, and I pushed through.
Looking for a spot where I could drink my brew,
I came upon a telephone pole that had lost its way.
Standing in its presence, I did not know what to say.
The thorny vines assaulted this wooden pole,
Pulling it towards the damp, muddy ground.
It was a hapless thing, abandoned by its fellows,
Leaning towards the earth, barely able to stand,
With cross bars crooked and wires hanging in disarray,
A forgotten thing, a derelict, lost on this earth.
I decided to address this kindred spirit.
"So, you got lost and came here too,
I guess for company you will have to do."
The pole remained silent.
Piqued by this affront, I continued to speak,
"You stand there like you have no care,
With nothing to do but remain standing.
At least I do more than that."
To which I got no answer.
So I forgot this thing and drank my beer.
But this derelict pole made me feel strange,
And I wondered what it was telling me
What wisdom might it impart,
Concerning life, and the human heart?
What was it trying to say?
Then this derelict thing silently spoke,
"Do not become a lost and wandering thing,
Because this is the price you will pay.
You will stand alone, melancholy and misbegotten,
Shunned by the world, with no hope."
I pondered this message I received,
What this being told me I could not deny.
Its harsh message I believed.