My spiritual advisor is white.

She likes who she likes

And lets the others know

Her distain

First, with a muffled yet throaty


And if that doesn’t take

She ups the volume.

Beyond seventy

In dog years

Has given her street cred.

She weighs a scant 7 pounds

Yet her sturdy legs

Can stop my wheelchair

When I want her to go

Where she’d rather not.

How embarrassing

That her wee frame

Can alter my course.

It bugs me.

Frustrates me.

Makes me lay down

Any modicum

Of genteel comportment.

I surreptitiously

Look around to see

If any body saw me lose it.

She is that Akido master

I saw on TV

From Korea

Who, with the barest ruffle

Reduced twenty men

To prone.

I have gotten stuck in stasis.

For a long time now

Avoiding projects,

Pedalling in place

And not doing

Yoga poses I know will save me.

I bend to whisper

In her ear

Just now:

“I love you.
I respect you.
It is a privilege to live with you.
Won’t you help me
And teach what you know
About intent?
You see..
I’ve lost my moxie
And you have it
In spades.
I’ll trade you
Really great food
And original songs
Along with
Your spot
Always saved
In bed
Next to me
If you’ll just share
You keep calling up
The gladiatorial acumen
Running red
In your blood
So close beneath
The white white whiteness
Of your lovely fur.”


4 Responses to “Advisor”

  1. Paul on January 24th, 2016

    Wow! What a wonderful post! Inspired!

  2. Pam on January 24th, 2016


  3. gerry harty on January 24th, 2016

    And another Amen!

  4. Barbara on January 25th, 2016

    Gladiatorial acumen, whoa!!

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