Poet or no poet

There is change at the halfway house.  Guys come and guys go.  Sometimes they move into the recovery home, sometimes they move out on their own, sometimes they make it a week, sometimes it*s simply not time for them to be at the halfway house... a variety of reasons... really.  Friday the poet moves on.  He has always made sure I did not stack my own chair, or put it up on the table after community meeting.  Last night someone else from group grabbed my chair.  The poet laughed.  The other guy from group said Someone needs to do it.  It know it is not a small thing.  Not small at all.  Still, I only know a little of what it means.

This morning I wake grateful

With the cat at my feet,

No appointments to keep

Until this afternoon.

Grateful

Only somewhat awake

There are no appointments.

I won*t need to speak

Until 1:00.

I spoke with the poet yesterday.

He wrote in prison,

Letters and poems for the guys

Who couldn*t write

Letters and poems for girlfriends.

He says he did not write

In the halfway house,

Because there he has a cell phone.

The poet always flanked me

In group.

Now I think maybe

I flanked him.

Last night another group member

Made sure to take care

Of my chair after the community meeting.

The poet smiled and laughed.

I will see who flanks me

Next week in group

After the poet has moved on.

I will see who has been designated

For me to flank

Next week.

Now that I have a morning

Without speaking,

I can see the possibility

It has all been determined

Already.

Poet or no poet.