A Poem -- courtesy of a dear friend

Anne Higgins is one of Deb's oldest and dearest friends and, through the years, has become one of mine as well. Anne is a published poet with numerous collections of her work in print. (You can find several of them on Amazon.com if you're interested...)

In her latest collection of poems, titled How the Hand Behaves, she includes one describing her response to a juggling performance of mine at a local street fair.

It's titled (not surprisingly) "The Juggler," and she's given me permission to reproduce it for you here. It goes like this:

********************

The Juggler

Spinning a tin plate
on a drumstick,
he beckons the little girl
put up your finger.
He transfers the tin plate from the drumstick
to her finger.
There's a serious intensity
to his whimsy.
His face red with exertion,
heat of the summer evening
at the street fair.
Two deep ridges furrow his brow.
His hair short, shoe brush bristly,
wired with gray as
his stubbly beard.
All his brainpower
poured into the juggling.
Hand-eye coordination,
two knife sharp eyes.
At sixty, he maintains his body
like a fine old Volvo -- running smooth.
Introvert who juggles
time, cash, yardwork,
computer,
all of that.
Now there's a lovely silver ball,
tangerine sized, translucent,
which rolls along his hand,
up his forearm,
twisting at his elbow,
down the other side and
back into the palm,
rolling of its own volition.

********************