MASTER LOCK IN THE SOCK DRAWER

TAKING THE MASTER LOCK

FROM THE SOCK DRAWER

Rusted from decades closing

lockers at the YMCA,

combination automatic

no longer having to recall

11-21-15, I smile putting it

in my pack with the same green

towel I kept to dry the dog

after bathing. I'm drying

bosc pears and apples.

It's Sunday, and I've skipped

worship because I'm proud

like my mother who was never

quite ready for a walker. Next

week we're carrying fruit

and four Walt Whitman stamps

framed to bless a poet's house

at Sun River, to sit in the kitchen

over meals. My wife and I

read Mary Oliver's Devotions

before meals. She's been gone

a year this week. Last night

we read Fish coming from a bucket

becoming part of everything

through words in water. I'm a new

member at the new Y.

4-digit coded lockers replace

the need to carry the old Master.

Driving shackled asylum seekers

to their ICE appointments

is how I carry privileged fire.

My health insurance pays

for my premiums. I ask that

Oliver's prayers deliver me

from taking anger out on others,

to think of fidelity in food,

dwelling in found sanctuary.

Jim Bodeen

20 January 2020