NAPOMO POEM #29 (04-29-14). (National Poetry Month) Here I am, a homo viator, in the twilight of his years. Where am I? At what stage of this brief, brief life do I find myself in? Is there anything else I must do? Is God done with me yet? ...Or am I hankering for yet another
The homo viator moves on his stage,
prompted by hoarded plaudits stored
in his hungry heart: one more bow,
and he retreats behind the curtains
to await those calls for an Encore!
No calls come, the curtains fall.
The gobbling fowl’s theatre is not off
the prompt mark: preening, hamming,
posturing, he goes through the acts
lusting for audiences who might weep,
laugh, bellow, strut, and ache with him.
When the curtain falls, and fleeting
encomiums echo only in the emptied
cavern, he wonders if the season
would end when even hummingbirds
no longer wait in the theatre wings.
—Albert B. Casuga