Taking Stock

So is this it, the sum total of a life? Closing
on 60, divorced, overweight and anxious
four offspring with children of their own
and no one to communicate with, a lonely
existence. Almost. Aside from the fact that at
this late age you're an orphan. He knew you for
for what you were back then, a ferret-faced 
kid with with a sneaky agenda he called 
"weasel" and didn't you resent him? Long 
since alienated from your only sibling, an
irremediable split between you and your 
sole aunt, who is left then? When the ache
of nostalgia and the creeping sense of alone
stalks the plain of your arid plaintive mind
you dial his number, one lost man entering
his elder years pleading for the patient good
nature of a relative to relieve the abandonment
that seizes you. The pump primed, a name
or event triggers an outpouring of memory
not your own but whose perspective slants
toward yours and you feel an immense wave
of rescue that inflates your sense of self in an
oblivious world, and all is forgiven, uncle.