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

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