I have strolled around this town
sixty years now, nothing new.
No friends to count, just a few.
Doesn’t matter really, friends do
what friends do, sorry if it saddens you.
Sadness gripped me like a vice
as a child after my father’s death, never letting go.
Don’t get this wrong. I found love, adventure,
fatherhood, husbandry, education, and the likes.
Now I have aged, sickened. I now a scavagenger
for words, reasons, logic, philosophy. Deeper
diggings you know. My worries lean towards
Jung, Rogers, presidential follies, hate, love,
things which only made road blocks to youth.
Never went to war. Vietnam spat me out.
That’s okay with me. Didn’t need a Purple Heart,
my pink one is just fine. I have accepted
my final meal, bitter as it may be, but a spoonful
of living will help me fly above the stars.
Going down is okay. I am, as Pink Floyd
so aptly sang “I have become comfortably numb.”