Cleaning Up
I wash the dishes
and think about the little girl
in the ad who says, “What
does the dishwasher do?
She means the machine,
of course. I know
what I’m doing here
and so did Luis,
who for years washed dishes
in a Sanibel restaurant.
He always sent money back
to “my wives” he called them
and helped his nephews get jobs
in Fort Myers.
He rode his bike
to work every day
until his sight failed
and he returned to Mexico.
A U.S. citizen now
and an honored elder
of his large family —
“a man of judgment.”
The clan had even bought him
an almost new pickup truck
that he’d never seen
and didn’t know how to drive.
* * * * *
Message From David
After the diagnosis
I told you, “Now I know
what’s going to kill me.”
Of course you disagreed
but for once I was right.
When we last spoke
I told you not to visit —
no long good-byes,
so you told me how busy you were,
a big shot patent lawyer
on the Board of Legal Aid,
working with researchers
to save many I knew from AIDS,
traveling to conferences but,
you said, only ones where
you would be “important”
at least for the time
it took you to dissect
some law I’d never heard of.
Long ago, I told you I wasn’t afraid
any more of not being able to write
another poem, and after
each long call I would ask
“But are you writing?”