New poem: "The 83-Year -Old Wind Surfer"

 

The 83-Year-Old Wind Surfer

 

He’s a very strange man, everyone says;

but not because he believes in UFOs,

he’s just eccentric. He’s 83, and still wind

surfs in Florida where he has his winter

home, and because he’s such a scrooge

and treats his wife so miserly. They called

him “Sweet Daddy” at the hydro plant in

Pine Falls where he worked in the machine

shop, because he was so miserable; but

he’s likeable enough once you get to know

him, despite his peculiar habits which are

impossible to overlook, like straining hot

water through the same coffee grounds,

using the same tea bag two and three times,

eating off coffee tables because he’s always

working his “investments” on the kitchen

table, vaunting his ability to cure migraines

by the touch of his hands (the women tell him

they’re cured because he creeps them out),

wearing the same “lucky shirt” that should be

in the rag bag, having his house painted for

the first time in nearly forty years, drawing a

line in the sand when he believes he’s morally

right, mistaking normal decent behavior for

altruism, complaining with paranoid suspicion

about being overcharged for bananas, and

not bat an eye when he loses 300 grand

playing the stock market.

 

Composed in Nipigon, Ontario

Date unknown: 1990-2000