Restless

The geese are headed south again, and I,
Almost as if I was nineteen, not nearly 64,
Am restless. Should I go with them?
The doctors all have made it clear that I
Don't have that long to live. Would it be
Wise to hang on here, the father/ husband/
Grandpa now who chucks the chins, who
Offers pleasant bromides and encouragements?
I don't believe they count on me. If they'll
Be fine, why can't I bolt? Why can't I take
The girl/woman I have loved these last two
Years somewhere neither of us has been?
Why can't we find ourselves beneath some
Sheets, forever after kissing, mornings,
Coffee on our breath? Why can't we join
The throng which turns toward the south
This time of year, geese and guys who
Age like me, with neither grace nor hope?
I'll die, they say. I want her with me
Somewhere down in Argentina or Brazil.
I've gotten restless, almost as if I am
Nineteen, far from 64.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 72 times
Written on 2017-09-08 at 03:47

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