Control

He is a
big man,
about seventy;
I had never
seen him
at a meeting
before.
His hair
is white
and his face
is battle scarred.
He tells us
about his
newest problem.
"The only thing
I can control
is how I react to it,"
he says.
He leans back
in his chair
with his arms
crossed around
his chest
like two pieces
of lumber.
He goes on
to tell us
about his first
thirty days.
I stare at him,
nodding,
knowing.