The Bluff out my Window

She’s in the stands

not as the fervent painted man

who only feels a win when half are losing,

and not as the girlfriend feigning investment,

with little return and compounding resentment,

but as the grandma knitting in her lap

I catch her meditation to the sunrise

as my introduction to the day,

my guilt is inferred from the holiness of her life 

as she watches me from her ladder 

I’ve been in the clothes dryer again,

tumbled around.

But as I spin,

a part of me is the bluff

standing behind myself as the backdrop

knitting the threads of my life

aware and unconcerned with the game