For George R. Garrison
in memory of Buffalo, California and Kent
A little old man in the white scruffy beard
comes towards me, to inform me that my
shoe laces are undone, he must think that
my life is unraveling strand by strand before
his very dedicated eyes; he wants me to take
better care of myself and my possessions
because everything before him is fleeting.
He seems willing to retie my shoes,
but I get the job done before he can say
‘Jackie Robinson’, while dropping my books
on the ground. I have to admit,
I will always have trouble,
and always need help;
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