July 10, 1981
On this porch, on this cool
summer day, when the moon
is benign in afternoon sky,
when birds sing from wire to
wire, I have no argument.
This may be the milk-and
-honey time, the fulcrum,
the equator. I may be on
my way down or past or
into. This will change, and
I will change, and the wood
of this porch will rot. The
birds will die, and I will die,
and new leaves will grow
under other summer suns.
I have no argument.
Patrick T. Reardon
6.30.17
This poem appeared in Requiem for David, published in February, 2017, by Silver Birch Press.
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.