Bob Meszaros

Poets biography

The Scenic Overlook

 

 

No bucket seats; no seat restraints;

it is nineteen fifty-nine, and we are parked

on West Rock Ridge, on Baldwin Drive.

 

Our overlook is empty; the Hudson’s grill

is pressed against the wood and wire guardrail;

it is pointing, upward, at the sky.

 

Red-faced and out of breath, my right arm

curled around your sun-browned shoulders,

we are waiting for the night.

 

   *

 

Closed to traffic and young lovers, 

weeds now fill the cracks around 

the shattered wooden guard rail;

 

frayed and rusted cables, the sloughed 

off skins of wire snakes, lie limp

and coiled around each concrete base

 

where thick white wooden 

posts and wire cables, as taut and trued 

as long-stemmed daffodils and roses, 

once held us poised for flight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

             Cairn Builder

 

 

Years of weekend day trips, harvested 

in old coat pockets and draw string bags

 

the rocks gleaned from state parks,

from beachfronts, from a terminal moraine.

 

Now, my back and shoulders cracked

and bowed from forty years of lifting thick lead 

blocks and stage four cancer patients, 

 

on summer afternoons, I watch my gnarled 

hands stacking stone on polished stone, building 

cairns on wooden benches, on tree stumps, 

on slate rock garden paths.

 

Alone,

each cairn becomes a calling, 

becomes a shattered body healing, 

a single column rising slowly—balanced, 

upright, bone on polished bone.