by Michael Estabrook

Had we but world enough, and time.
          Andrew Marvell

1
Just like that, before I knew it,
40 years had gone, the children were grown,
and I was out on the back deck with my wife
watching the dry, brown leaves
fall silently to the ground.

2
Another crazy busy week makes me wonder
where all the time has gone
where all my plans and dreams have gone.
Too late now for new beginnings
those days are behind me.

3
At this autumnal stage of my life
I should accept finally who I am
and the way I am but I cannot because there
are so many improvements yet to be made.
I hope there’s still world enough and time.

by Michael Estabrook

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
          William Shakespeare

1
Yes I know I could’ve become a famous poet
that time I met the Devil at the crossroads. I could’ve
made the standard pact with him trading my soul
for poetic perfection. But I squandered my chance
by choosing the girl instead.

2
Exciting watching the Rio 2016 Olympics especially
the great champions — Phelps, Ledecky, Biles, Bolt, Eaton . . .
think how I could’ve done something exciting with my life
if only I had had the resources . . . then spot the Devil
in the corner across the room laughing his ass off.

3
I’m a senior now, retired, career done, family grown
and gone but have I accomplished everything
I’ve wanted to? Not sure honestly.
So pick something and do it, moron, the Devil hisses
in my ear having lost his patience with me again.

by Mary O’Donnell

This was happiness, I said.
We talked about the quick, perfect stealth
of those moments. I sat beneath orange trees,
and the ground breathed up on me.
A gentle possession, a lover
long known, rarely seen.

And later, when the sun had set that day,
a full moon stealing over the Sierras,
I thought of going to Santiago de Cuba,
as he had done,
of dancing to Cuban rhythms
rum on my tongue,
a reek of skin, all body,
burning up —

by Mary O’Donnell

          for J S

They were like two kittens, he said,
snuggling up to him,
they were fun and they liked him.

I thought — against my own sex — how
enviable his freedom to fall in
with such company, then breakfast

with them afterwards, heartily, admiring
their health, their strong teeth, that
vitality. It could never happen

to a woman my age, two tiger men
who would not wound, the three of us
so human in a dusky room, sunlight

stealing through the slats in colours
from Matisse, the riotous world
within and without.