"THE MINNEAPOLIS"

The sand at Hidden Falls was still frozen
but it softens when you sit
because here pumps the first barge of spring
coming round the bend.
At least as far as you know
no, it's no Mark Twain Delta Queen
cascading up the waterway
the night Old Dixie laid it down
but it is pleasant to sit and watch
the barges shudder and smack the next ripple
pushed on by an engine a fiftieth their size
and out of sight around the willow sandbar
But as the barges come into view I see
they are not coming up empty for gravel or grain
but are laden down with construction gear,
steel black I-bars, the span of the new bridge
they are building by the falls, the one that came down
and killed those people last August.
It's a smart idea as these bars are huge,
they can't be shuttled about on city streets,
no helicopter can hold them,
and on the next cold barge I see compressors
and a crewhouse and gigantic black tires
maybe to buffer the boats from the pylons
and I see an entire steel staircase in one welded piece
you could just drop into place and start climbing
but it is on its side now, so the stairs
go neither up nor down
and would be very awkward to navigate.
And it all chugs by, the most remarkable thing,
a bridge coming upriver to take its place,

until it falls too, all bridges fall,
and that tiny little tug behind now coming into view,
a fiftieth the size of the barges it's pushing
is a riverboat, a tug, with whistles whooshing,
pushing against current for all it's worth,
and on its prow its name, The Minneapolis.

April 11, 2008

Young Frankenstein Part !!

I dreamed Rachel and I owned a very big house, perhaps four stories. It was grahnd, but rundown,and eccetrically designed, with some areas unreachable. Every room you entered was like a different world, some good and some not so good. We had evicted the previous tenants and then discovered they were coming back at night -- not out of greed but because they had a responsibility they were sworn to take care of -- the storage of the monster in one of our closets. My heart went out to them, and even to the monster, who was hopelessly immobile and obviously suffering and in need to their support. The dream devolved into a series of tests, but at its high point it was about owning a house that was inhabited by outlaws,and feeling honor-bound to protect them.

How did I get this way?

I'm 57 years old and feel my competence dripping away. I have trouble paying attention at neetings, remebering things people tell me, even losing track of the meanings of things. I think I can deal with incompetence, or acceot it at least ... but I have a devil of a time understanding why this is happening, because there are so many possible candidates:

* brain tumor
* stroke vent
* very high blood poressure
* diabetes
* 57 year old forgetfulness
* anxiety over forgetting
* ADD
* discouragement/lack of confidence from past mistakes

Does it matter which it is? Maybe not. But I feel so self-centered all the time, covering up from my disabilities

And I wish I had a great excuse that would make people bend over to let me stay on.