Fistfuls of Balloons! One.

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I said I would try to make the best of being house-bound (making lemonade out of lemons) and this is the start of that process. If it should seem a trifle scattered and haphazard, please remember that I’m doing this on the run. (That is, obviously, an ironic trope, since I’m still at the stage where hobbling from my office to the kitchen requires time, patience, forethought, and a sense of humor.)

“Now and Then”
by Hawley Truax

Now that the sawdust of threescore and ten
Is running out through legs that will not bear
The body that outlives them, how and where
To park becomes the question. Not on Cen-
tral’s carpet, wall to wall—so boundless when
It flew beneath the feet of boyhood’s hare
And hounds—or in the Luxembourg, a fair
Hour’s walk to the Bois for me at twen-
ty, “Paris twenties” still in store.

Where, then?

Settle for peddling in a pinwheel chair,
Forever seated, in my hand a stick,
Before I take no turns about and sip
The last time from too long a stirrup cup?
No! Fistfuls of balloons shall bear me up!

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