Poetry

Sandy Skoglund

By

Abigail Rathbone

L-Dopa Does Something to My Dreams

Lately I don’t sleep much but when I do,

I find myself at cocktail parties taken aside

By much older women who offer advice on things

Like the right way to fix Beef Wellington or

Reupholster lawn furniture or polish silver trays.

These are things I’d probably never

Do in a million years

And besides, it’s way too late to become that

Civilized Martha Stewart kind of person.

Why are long dead old ladies hectoring me?

Is it for the same reason I keep getting

Mail solicitations about insurance for

Final Expenses?

Autumn At Last

Spring is not the only season of renewal:

As if to mark the solstice

This late September Sunday morning

From the beach, the sky’s an American

Civil War re-enactment —

Gray on one side, blue on the other. The gray half is

Buttressed by batteries of dark clouds but they won’t win this day.

As the blue cascades across, knowing its victory has come

The gray clouds dissipate going back where they came from, but

Unlike the Johnny Rebs, they will come again, perhaps tomorrow.

Now that summer’s over, dogs are once again allowed

To frolic on the sand –several are barking, dashing in and out

Of the great Chesapeake while their owners proudly admire

Their bravery and silliness. Grouped together in a circle of chairs

The local 12-Step Chapter holds its weekly sunrise service in the

Suddenly clean fresh air and from a distance, the members seem serene,

Filled with invigorated hope and resurrected resolution.

Abigail Rathbone

Abigail Rathbone has been writing both short fiction and poetry “on and off” for 50+ years. A retired copywriter she now spends much of her time buying and selling old books, some of which she reads.