POETRY BY RUSSEL G. WINICK

After retiring from a long career operating a business law and litigation firm, and at nearly age 65, Russel Winick shifted to a quieter existence as a poet. His foremost poetic influences include Langston Hughes, Dorothy Parker, and Robert Frost. He and his wife reside in Naperville, Illinois.

 

EGOS ON DISPLAY

With chiding under guise of helpful pointers,
Presenting their opinions as hard fact,
Delighting in the showing off of knowledge,
The arrogant aren’t compromised by tact.

Words gushing in belief they’re golden bullion,
Instruction surely how such folks construe it.
But they’re just egoistically insulting,
Completely unaware they even do it.

POSTSCRIPT

Hey Mom—I really must say:

You carved a path of destruction in your life
That tornadoes might envy.

Three flawed but loving husbands—
All unceremoniously dumped,
And then you died, pathetically lonely.

Somehow the challenges in your early life
Made you need a perfect child,
Which I wasn’t.
A fact you specialized in letting me know
With seemingly millions of angry stares and chilling words
That affected me far more than any good things you said or did
And caused insecurity which virtually ruined my childhood
And made a big part of me hate you.
And implanted poison which took nearly a lifetime to understand, and begin removing.

Your letters show all the times you tried to run from that history
By telling me over and over that you loved me
But never once saying the simple words which might actually have aided your objective:
“I apologize for hurting you.”
Ego, I suspect.

And the grandchildren that you said you wanted to be close to,
But never spent much time with
Because the primary activity they chose—sports—
Was mostly a waste of time in your mind.
Judgmental to the end.

And all of the incredible success that they—and I—have had, which you would have loved—
You missed most of that.

What a shame.
All of it.

So Mom, I really have to say:

I forgive you.

STILL THAT KID

Because of family issues,
He grew up insecure.
Achievement suffered greatly,
From feeling so unsure.

Then good luck came to greet him,
All measures of success.
With self-esteem upon him,
Endeavors shed their stress.

Some far outside presumed that
His ego had been altered,
From all of the endeavors
In which he’d never faltered.

But always he stayed humbled,
By knowledge what he did,
Was in each case a blessing,
And he was still that kid.