There’s a man in a red hat walking across the pond on this chilly January day in 2025. I consider stopping to explain the precariousness of his position, except that I am familiar with this man. And I know my concern will be met with cold and bitter defense. He might walk farther out on the ice to prove his point. Indeed, he might even walk right to the thinnest spot and give a little jump. So I laugh out loud, remind myself that nothing can save him now — neither his capacity nor his god — and I head for the safety of home where I wouldn’t dare jump these days. Safe is all but an illusion now, and I haven’t the arrogance to pretend otherwise.
Poem ©2024, Jen Payne.
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