This is the first poem with any merit I wrote after Elise's Bat Mitzvah.
Half a year earlier around Y2K I had an angioplasty after experiencing
angina at Cuzco, Peru. This left me riddled with worry about my imminent
death. I was convinced the angioplasty would not last and it didn't. In
May 2002 I needed heart bypass surgery.

I wrote this poem after awakening in the middle of the night with an
inspiration. Sleeping brings out some of my best thoughts and most creative
ideas. This is why I never wake my students (actually I throw chalk or
anything handy at them to wake them for the nerve of sleeping in my class).

At the time, my son, Evan had taken over the role of family poet laureate. He
does not devote the time I do to poetry, probably because he keeps so busy,
but he has all the talents and writes more loving poems than I do. Both my
and his poetic skills seem to have sprung almost fully formed from the start,
as did Athena. 

Lost Touch

I think its plain for all to see
I've lost my touch in poetry
A fact that everyone knows
Is, older poets turn to prose
And now I watch as my son
Spits out rhymes one by one
Why, I ask must it be so
That aging makes our passion go
A young man when he finds a theme
Converts it naturally to a dream
For young hearts make ideas burn
When each pore makes you lust and yearn
Only if I wake at night
Do I see a sim'lar light
Then I ask in voice grown soft
How it was that I turned off
Do I have another chance
To turn my walk back to a dance?
Before its my turn to be dead
But now I'll get back into bed
With no answer to my quest
Except I need to sleep-to rest
I'll check this out after the dawn
On the slight chance my heart's reborn

24 June 2001
0330 EDT Atlanta, GA Jack Rosenberg's House