POEM - What Does Dubie Do?

The idolized mortal offers

            Lilting oration and humorous rumination,

And every gathered ear is locked tight

On knowing eyes, underscored

By an honorable white beard;

Each mind centering on rhythmic visualizations.

I’m there with everyone else, devouring

This aural pallet that expands yearning mind, there

With my wife and children:

“So, what’d you think?” I ask her

“Weird” she says, and then

“I wonder what his wife looks like,

            and does he take the garbage out?

What kind of car does he drive,

            and what about his kid?

Does he play with them?

            Do they understand him, think he’s weird?”

These are valid questions, I even think them sometimes.

I know where she’s coming from

            She thinks I’m weird, too

And she knows I forget to take out the garbage

And my children think I’m weird

And she loves how I am when I play with them

And she forgives my faults, and

She sees in the man on the stage

The future me, and she would just like some answers.

Likes to know what to expect.

Maybe if I get a chance I’ll ask him.

Will he think I’m weird?

For now I shrug my shoulders

As I walk on, a fox in winter,

I consider the blood red dawn.