THE NECESSARY THINGS
My wife watches flowers grow,
while I gaze at a cloudy sky.
She sees beauty.
I see darkness closing
like a lizard’s eye.
Soon it will snow.
She’s rooted in the earth
like an oak tree.
I’m always drifting
into outer space.
She says a rose has grace.
I tell her the moon
has a nasty face.
When I say tomorrow
Won’t be fair,
She isn’t listening.
She’s busy
trimming my unruly hair.
SEPTEMBER IN EARLY MORNING
Flowers have dropped their petals
like a child loses its toys.
Leaves are dry and wrinkled,
like an old woman’s eyes.
Summer has come and gone,
and birds which nested in my trees,
have left on their flight south.
My wife is in the ground.
This morning even her nagging
would be a welcome sound.
I don’t drink wine.
Drunken memories are unkind.
I drink a cup of bitter tea.
I have suddenly grown old.
I feel neither love nor pity.
I watch the moon slowly die,
but I can hardly see it.
It barely lights the sky.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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