by Kim Doyle
He dealt with the thin ice of expectations.
The must haves, the wannabees, the sweet
smell of failure dressed as success.
Like a sailor on the great wide sea saying
there is a lee shore that we must avoid,
but all the riches there are ours to share.
He skated over all the silly objections.
The can-nots, the ought-nots, the wanting
to table things, or to make a study; to hire
a consultant; a trillion, trea-cly, whining caveats
that dripped down like melting icicles on his
and everybody else’s head.
But then a skate broke through the ice;
he was exposed, and the sharks were up to their dorsal
fins in his flesh. His wife moved to their beach home,
and he was all alone. What happens next is your guess.
It is the age of overexposure; of Just Say No, sir.
But he was so, so accustomed to the big Yes.
Kim Doyle notes: "Sometimes I am pleased to have what some consider to be a woman's first name."
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