Ambition
I lie on the bed in my bathrobe
with the cat. Outside, a misty rain.
So many things to be done
in this world, so many injustices
rectified. Somewhere, in a lab filled
with crescendos of test tubes,
frenzied scientists sit on the cusp
of curing misery. I wish I were among them.
Sadly, I have only the prematurely blossoming
eastern redbud across the street and the
incipient crocuses to truly celebrate.
It is yet another day of doing nothing
for my kind. Is this the romantic’s fate?
I wonder, merely to celebrate the celery
and chives in his own backyard? Bridges
are being built, tunnels dug, someone
is just now standing up to argue before the
Supreme Court. Where have I gone wrong–
a man in a bathrobe at noon with a cat–
or have I? Do no harm, a friend in Colorado,
scarred by his youth, describes as his motto,
and surely I am doing no harm. My putting game
is ever improving, my second serve has miles
to go before it sleeps. Oh Lord, let the sun
emerge this day, let the cat awaken purringly
against my thigh. Let me do nothing
to damage anyone, and, if I do, let that
damage be minimal. Let the smiling neighbors
who live next door be blessed with caffeine
and beverages, let the babies cry out
with pleasure and the builders of bridges go
their merry way. I see it now— the sun
coming out from behind a cloud. We
have done it again. Life is magical.