THE LINGERING LIGHT
CAIN AND ABEL
One tills the field, one tends the flock,
No more in eternity; now bound to the clock.
In these early days of The Lingering Light,
One will follow the true and right.
One will give way as darkness grows,
As goodness ebbs and evil flows.
Is it nature?
Is it nurture?
Is it some sort of mixture?
Or does something
Darker and deeper
Make us another’s
Killer or keeper?
MITCH
A Vietnam vet sits by the side of the road,
Legs crossed, with a soggy cardboard sign,
His world in a bicycle basket.
A car with a surfboard splashes him with water,
Sizing him up for a cheap pine casket.
The next car tosses a five his way,
But what he really wants
Is for someone to say
Thank you for fighting our fight
In those jungle days of The Lingering Light.
MARY
She waits on her scooter for the light to change,
Two cars collide and swerve into her,
And her whole life is rearranged.
Down (for now) to one leg,
She cries in her hospital bed,
But not from that pain are her tears being shed.
What hurts much worse is when she overhears a nurse
Whispering, “Too bad about the legs,
“But teens on scooters these days
“Have the survival instincts of soft-boiled eggs.”
Here in these days of spite makes right,
Here in these days of The Lingering Light.
A MEETING
She bounds down the boardwalk on bionic legs
Holding a tray with two lattes and more —
Bacon, hash browns, and scrambled eggs.
In the darkness he leans his bike
On their bench by the sand.
He takes a latte from her outstretched hand.
“I’m glad Wednesday’s come around again.”
“It’s good to see you,
What’s new, my friend?”
They eat and watch crabs sidle to and fro,
Looking out on the coconut palms
Stirring slowly in the rising red glow.
