Sunday, July 2, 2017
A Clever Observation on a Trivial Fact Followed by an Enigmatic Image that Might Be Profound
For Billy Collins
At 60 my mother was no spring chicken
But then a spring chicken is something no one ever is
Not even spring chickens.
It’s only something you can not be
Like so many other things, even things for which we have certain names,
They say he has a certain charm,
By which we indicate that we don’t know what that charm is
Which makes it anything but certain.
I like the idea that we can now throw shade.
Years ago we could only cast it, as we cast a fly rod
Which provides very little shade. Now we can throw it
Like a baseball, which has more surface area,
Though now that I think of it, perhaps we should learn to unfurl shade.
Which brings me back to my mother, in her rocking chair,
Reading this poem
With a certain enigmatic expression.