Monday, June 28, 2021


It is not unlike the beach
watching the sun rise slowly
in a yellow and orange blanket of clouds.
Waves break with nascent energy
onto the sand higher and higher
until they are in the streets of the city,
and I am a man about town
who knows a thing or two
about bicycles and traffic
as I nod to pedestrians
before climbing the stairs
to make love for the first time.

You see, it’s a continuum,
this rolling into the cosmos
on timed contractions
and slipping into one’s role
and a contract to play a part.
Perhaps a leading man,
although more likely a tinker
or tailor to swell a scene.
The process never stops:
the first kiss, the last kiss.
The new job, the older wife,
the twenty-something who must find himself
for reasons unknown while hiking in Alaska.

You shake your head,
knowing it’s all birth.
I did, and I’m a man about town
waiting for the stage directions
to tell me to enter, say that the king has died,
and then exit.
Maybe I’ll return in a later scene,
a reincarnation of sorts.
And when the lights are down
the janitor pushing his wide broom
down the empty aisle,
the coffin being selected
by the wife older still,
that’s birth too onto a beach
that we seldom dream about.

~William Hammett

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