So I'm lying on the deck

in a supine spinal twist,

feeling the flow of chi,

and watching the clouds change form. 

And they bring back the Baudelaire poem, the speaker

who has no one in the world but "les nuages merveilleux,"

the wonderful clouds. And I recall sharing it with you, 

and you sneering, "Intellectual masturbation."

You were 23 to my 17, so you had the last word.

You had clouds of your own, solemn assertions

that you knew you would be famous one day.

You were a sociology major, till you dropped out.

A Marxist. You quoted Lennon that a working-class

hero was something to be, but you never found your way

to being it. You waited tables all your working life,

relieved only by the occasional trips to Big Sur.

We found each other again on Facebook, where we both

post Bernie Sanders. We have agreed not to meet.

It's been 48 years. I lie here, under the clouds,

the calm energy flowing, and think I'm just about ready

to cut your judgments loose and let them float away.

 

 

About the author: Cheryl Caesar is an ex- expatriate, having lived in Europe for 25 years before returning to her native Michigan. She teaches writing at Michigan State University, and serves as president of the Michigan College English Association. Her chapbook of protest poetry Flatman is available from Amazon, and her poems and artwork appear in both volumes of Words across the Water (Fractal Edge Press). In 2024, she won first prize for prose in the My Secret Lansing contest sponsored by the Lansing Arts Council.