Old-Fashioned

Old-Fashioned

So you’re a teacher,
the old man tells me.
How does he know.

No one but a teacher
would dare do such
an old-fashioned thing

as reading in public.
Karl is here to visit
his brother, who is

dying. It’s the right
time to swap stories.
I want him to know

all the crazy parts
of my life. Karl keeps
his longing where

he can reach it when
he needs to, like a
handkerchief in the

inner breast pocket
of a jacket. Is it age
that prods what we

want forward, offering
it as easily as small
talk. Is there any need

to mention the clouds
or cloudlessness when
we can speak about death

and love with strangers.
I write my wife a poem
every year for her birthday,

but one year I tore up
what I wrote to start
again. Feelings are

the hardest part, Karl
again, balancing two
cherry danishes and

an apple on a napkin
that he will carry
upstairs to his wife.