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/.

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