The second poem of the second week of the online retreat. (Slightly revised.)
The old neighborhood ain’t what it used to be, I’m afraid.
Used to be you might could do whatever you want,
wouldn’t have no trouble doin’ it, neither.
Like any place, it took gettin’ used to at first,
but once you figured it out? Smooth sailing all the way…
Now it’s gettin’ harder every year—
can’t go as fast,
can’t walk as far,
can barely see straight even with you got your glasses on.
Load’s heavier, that’s for sure.
Even if you can lift it, forget about seeing your feet—
and you gotta watch your step. Always.
Hill’s gettin’ steeper,
desert’s replacin’ meadows,
and damned if’n that sun ain’t gettin’ brighter.
Everything that made sense before
don’t make sense no more.
It’s always changin’.
That place I used to love’s been gone for years—
and when did they put that there?
Sometimes I don’t even recognize this place. I swear.
(13 October 2020)
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