Galapagos

Neoprene sealed in our fiberglass wells
We kayakers scuttle like hermit crab shells.

Assemble for fun at the earth’s hot equator
We’ll know the Galapagos well nine days later.

Sea lions are playful, they’re curious and grand
As they frolic in water and sun on the sand.

Truda’s an artist with camera and Mac
With vision and verve that most of us lack.

Oliver’s a tester of things to begin
He’ll swim through a tunnel, though he may lose a fin.

Charlie’s a therapist, a specialist in kind
With his kids ever moving, he’s not far behind.

Laura’s a Roosevelt, but turned down her prom
Studied management at Yale and now answers to “Mom.”

The Galapagos Penguin, is it fish or a bird?
Black and white on the shore, in the water it’s blurred.

A motocross racer broke bone after bone
So Darcy’s a jock-doc to take care of his own.

Carolyn’s smile’s an attractive aesthetic
But she’s a real knock-out with her anesthetic.

Blue-Footed Boobies, who gave them that name?
They’re clearly not boobs when they dive with fish-aim.

Dick is a doctor, kayaker and biker
Who’s now set his stethoscope on Kathy the hiker.

And Kathy’s a mother, a reader and neighbor
Who has artfully captured the bike-doctor’s favor.

Iguana’s aren’t boastful, they’re quiet and shy
But their camera-like eyes see all that goes by.

Peter’s aflight with ideas ever bolder
But smartly has married an air traffic controller.

Karen’s a down-to-earth practical thinker
Who has cleverly captured the inveterate tinker.

Behold the old tortoise – how ponderous he goes
Been ‘round here so long, can’t guess all he knows.

Barbara and Don are the long-married couple
Who count on their Advil to keep their joints supple.

Above all the action, attentive of mind
The Frigate Bird searches for what’s left behind.

Thanks heaven for Eduardo, our leader and guide
Who handles our questions, let’s no details slide.

Vacations must end, and responsibility
Become something more than just kayak stability.

We've seen and we’ve shared, and we’ve learned something more
We are not the same folk we were once before.

Tom

(roommate, friend, 45 years)

Around a turn, runner and bear
startle, stop, regard each other
surprised to meet on a mountain trail
where each had thought to be alone.

Bear rises on back feet to show
his shaggy bulk and better see
this interloper, panting, sweating
on the ledge he thought was his.

Gathering his best bear-wits
the runner calls and lifts his sticks
like antlers on some scrawny stag
so he looks bigger too, and able
to contend with mountain threats.

His bear-wits urge: be confident
keep facing as you back away.
The bear just watches man withdraw
as if the bear might somehow know
it isn't yet his time to go.

Now the bear has come again
not in some woodsy confrontation
but internal, in a fierce contagion
from which there is no back-away
no saving tips from bear-safe wits.

You and I think time was short
too short, the path does not feel right
for death to take our friend and dad.
We've more to learn from gracious charm
from modest wit and irony
his spunk and curiosity. The bear

we meet is loss-of-Tom
our trailway threat is emptiness
that stands erect where he has been.
Again, Tom shows us what to do:
to celebrate alive with friends
with family, to say "You matter
you matter and I love you."

You matter and I love you.