Swagger Triptych

1.
Rocked back on my heels
by the impact
of a dark wet morning
full of challenging songs
and knotted thoughts:

do I remember
how to use the word
“contentment”
in a sentence?

The only thing I’m sure of
is that it has nothing in common with
“swagger.”  Swagger’s
how you get by
when you aren’t sure,

and I’m sure.

2.
During World War II,
there was a fad among US Army junior officers
for the carrying of swagger sticks:
short batons tucked under the arm
as a symbol of power and command.  Lieutenants
and captains competed with them;
they were elaborate, carved from ebony,
chased in gold and silver…

A general saw this trend
and issued the following order:

“Regarding the use of swagger sticks:
if you need one,
carry one.”

They disappeared overnight.

3.
I step into the rain
with a bowed head
and a slow walk.
My knee’s offering
a forecast for the day:
you’re not going to get
where you’re going
as fast as you want,
but you’ll get there.

How the rain always falls
is straight down.  Falls
from on high and ends up
soaking away into the ground,

where it will do its best work.

I don’t need to swagger
and curve my steps
to the swaying of my ego.

Swagger’s for the uncertain.
I’m

not.