The Joys of Old Shirker

My waking life is sweeter
Than your dream; nothing troubles

My sight. Nothing is at hand.
Why tell the old they’re too old

To change? We change fast, faster,
Fastest. We change into death.

We lose ourselves completely.
Leave us be. Well, leave me be.

This is the country for me—
Long afternoons, slow moving

Sunlight on the walls and trees.
Keep your convictions. Spare me.