Saturday, April 11, 2020

My Unappointed Days

With apologies to Robert Winner,
Who made the most of opportunity
In the best fewest phrases, I’m unsure

If I can endure freedom unensured,
Uninsured. At the end of the windows
Marching down my street, the air is hazy

Over the spinning lake. I said I would
Not keep working this way. I said I would
Retire and go back and never come back.

I had no idea. I still don’t. Wisdom
Is an ancestor who comes to visit,
Back from the grave to offer me advice

Unsolicited, which I pass along—
To anyone who will pay attention—
In covered tins of leftover wisecracks.

I check on the sky’s position, the sun
Reminding me of the coming season.
I want so much to let the wind decide.

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