Painting by Pamela Heater
Hoosiers
The neighbor has started stretching each morning
in his backyard. Actually it's not stretching, but
something else, something weirder. A kind of
swooping and moving, martial arts, but not.
He went away on vacation, came back and
has started this, whatever it is, each morning.
I watch as I drink my coffee. Each morning
I expect his backyard to be empty,
as it has been for years at this time, but no,
he's there, looking ridiculous and not seeming
to know or care. Overweight. Middle-age.
Hell, past middle-age. Like me. In his yard.
Refusing to admit this isn't us, this isn't
what Hoosiers do, at this age, in this state.
I'm embarrassed for him, and know someday
he'll be embarrassed for himself, and we'll laugh
over beers, "What the hell was that about?"
But for now, he's there, trying to change
his life, and I watch, annoyed at him, annoyed
to realize that sometimes I am swaying along.
