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Euclid Creek Book Four

Michael Ceraolo

January 23, 2019

My 61st birthday
Coffee first thing,
next checking emails,
then heading out for a busy day

First stop the library:
I need to print a copy of a cancelled check
The pension fund stopped providing
health insurance to retirees
effective at the start of the year,
instead giving each member a yearly stipend
with which to buy insurance from a broker
Of course, the stipend was actually given;
it was placed in an account from which
I’ll be reimbursed after providing documentation
of the premium payments I’ve made
(I’ve already made two,

and since they say to allow up to 60 days
for the initial reimbursement,
I’ll make at least one more payment
before receiving any money)
And I’m one of the luckier ones:
among the many deficiencies of the system
there are some counties in the state
with no providers in them
I wonder how many pension-fund trustees
attended the Rose Bowl courtesy of the broker

I go to my credit union,
and then drive a friend to work

After dropping her off,
I treat myself to breakfast
at a restaurant called The Original L.A. Pete’s,
where many of the delicious dishes
bear the names of neighboring suburbs
And I wonder how the original L.A. Pete,
whoever he may be if he even existed,
came to open a restaurant
in Independence, Ohio,
where the fire hydrants are painted red, white, and blue

I visit of couple of sites
where at one time there was something military,
doing research for a future part of this poem

I stop at Cebar’s Euclid Tavern
for a celebratory snakebite-on-the-rocks,
and to turn in a ‘homework’ project
The owner, Tom, periodically ‘assigns’ me
to research various subjects that
have come up for discussion recently
The assignments are strictly voluntary,
but I happily accept them because
they and others I assign myself
help to keep me sharp

My birthday marks nearly the nadir of winter,
at least officially; in a day or two
the average temperatures will begin to rise
slowly
It has been as warm as 68 F
(my ninth birthday)
and as cold as -17 F
(my fifth birthday)
Today it has been raining heavily,
melting most of the ten inches of snow
that fell a few days ago,
and as I drive through the park
the creek alongside the parkway
has swelled enough to create white water
that is rapidly rushing by

When I get home,
I field a few birthday well-wishes,
shave,
then head out again for the evening

I visit a few other sites
of the kind mentioned above,
and for the same purpose;
at one of them
water,
probably from a burst water main,
is shooting through the asphalt
of the parking lot

I am being taken to dinner by my daughters,
and I go to their apartment
a little before dinner time
to visit my twin grandchildren,
holding them for the first time
outside the hospital
(they will be three weeks old tomorrow;
tonight they will stay home with their dad
I hope this is the last birthday of mine
they won’t join us for dinner)

We go to Dianna’s Deli,
a place near their apartment
that is a favorite of all of us,
a place with excellent food
yet strangely uncrowded in the evening

As I’m driving
I listen to the Cavs game:
they have fallen off the cliff
from where they were the last four seasons,
but I still follow them faithfully

I pick up my friend from work
and drive her home

When I get home
I read some of Scottish poet Robin Robertson’s
Sailing the Forest: Selected Poems
I recently read his poem
The Long Take: A Noir Narrative,
a work that I give my highest rating:
“Damn, I wish I’d written that!”
and
which inspired me to get the other book
I’m only partway through it,
but it looks like it’ll get the same rating

I read some more birthday well-wishes,
and then wrote this poem

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