Four Poems
by Lloyd Hill
Clutter and Declutter
I just moved from my Ocean Beach home
of 20 years, to a studio in Carmel Valley
and had to get rid of half of my belongings.
Oh, the pain of downsizing.
This prosy poem was once twice as long
and I loved it like I loved all my old possessions
but my old home had become a blocked prison--
Now I can invite friends into my new space
as I invite you into my opened accessible poem.
It is said that all writing is rewriting.
This is a lot of what we do in writing workshops.
Write a first draft. Read it to fellow students
and take their critique. Revise and revise again.
The Mr. Coffee, Quaker Oats, the Heart Mug
are things in our lives and poems. So are thousands
of books, a dozen sportscoats, three thigh masters,
and outdated Florsheim’s-- you declutter
writing as you declutter your life.
Retirement Home Romance
The man and woman sit poolside
talking movies and books, touching
fingers and forearms, and their hearts swell
as the heat rises on this summer day.
He’s been watching Robert Redford
movies on Netflix, and she’s been
reading Danielle Steele and thinking
Meryl Streep’s heroine in Out of Africa.
Maybe tonight in the dark backrow
of the intimate onsite movie theater,
they’ll share popcorn and he’ll
put his arm around her shoulders
and they’ll hold hands and smile.
Could be only the old man can see
the vibrant girl in the old woman,
and only the old woman can see
the playful youth in the old man,
and, the voltage that turns them on
is that they can return to their own rooms
when desired, free to choose now or never,
but possibilities exist and maybe that’s
all they need--
Holiday Ball in Paradise
Valet parking to gourmet deserts, it’s a classy affair.
As the sun sets over the spacious lighted courtyard,
my girlfriend and I take petite plates of filet mignon
and goblets of spiked cider to a red and white poinsettias
decorated table by the dancefloor. The band plays
Jingle Bell Rock and we take a few spins, smiling
and saying hello to the crowd of residents, guests,
and staff. It’s a colorfully costumed crew, gowns
to clowns; laughing, chatting, drinking, and eating.
Later we visit different rooms in the main building
that have food and drink stations, taking our fill--
Photographs are taken for posterity and caricatures
are drawn and colored to show how silly we look,
and oh, the sweet pastries. Alas, this is a Cinderella
tale that ends suddenly at seven. Bedtime for many;
but my girl and I catch It’s a Wonderful Life
in the movie theater, testing how much late fun
old partiers can have before calling 9-1-1.
The Tale of the Big Storm that Hit Paradise
That week the big storm engulfed the retirement home, the CTO told residents to prepare for evacuation as the 200-room building might slip into the valley below. Then, as we gathered toothbrushes and blankets the CEO reversed the order and said because our home was nearly new and had backup-power we were to accept a hundred homeless people who had washed up by the freeway and we would all fortify together. It was like a week of Sundays. While the storm pounded outside, inside we got together, and sung karaoke, sang gospels and old tunes like This land is your land, this land is my land, and those songs opened our bodies and melded us together and when the skies finally cleared and the homeless wandered off and we got back to normal, we wondered what had happened but vowed to keep it alive in our ageing brains.