May 13: "Empty House," Mondays, "Funeral Lunch"

Billy Collins enjoys the view . . . 

Empty House

by: Billy Collins

After the old man died

but before the house was torn down,

the windows continued to enjoy

a view of the meadow and the woods beyond.

Monday is never anyone's favorite day of the week.  Often, when I get to my office on Monday morning, I spend several minutes staring out the window at the church across the street, as the sunlight transforms it from orange to gold to brindled sand.  Like the old man in Collins' poem, I never get tired of the view.

It was a really good Monday for me.  I don't say that very often.  About midmorning, I received news that a grant on which I worked for the library in January received funding.  (Unfortunately, I can't go into more detail until the official announcement at the beginning of June, but I worked my ass off on it.)  I never thought my application stood a chance.

So, I've been sort of basking in quiet celebration for most of the day.  Enjoying the view from my window, so to speak.

Saint Marty is done patting himself on the back now. 

Funeral Lunch

by: Martin Achatz

We sit around tables, eat

lasagna, chicken wings,

Aunt Polly's pink lady salad,

drink strong, black coffee,

and start forgetting

the dirty joke about a turkey

and a donkey the dearly departed

told last Thanksgiving.