I never told him this, but I admired him
for keeping copious lists on index cards,
in the breast pocket of his button down shirt.
Lists of meetings to attend,
people to hit up for money for the organization,
friends and co-workers’ birthdays,
books to read, movies to see,
the hours that Fenton’s Ice Cream Parlor would be open.
Birds to be catalogued,
office supplies to be bought, repairmen to be called,
ideas to be tweaked,
trails to hike.
Military dictators that needed overthrowing.
Religious leaders worth paying attention to.
Meals to be cooked.
Friends in need of a phone call.
Ah, the power of lists in his pocket.
Creating order out of chaos;
cataloging the past,
plotting the future.