My life is sometimes comfortable these days.
At 66 I’ve finally outgrown
anxiety and nerves that used to craze
my self-esteem and make my timber moan.
Perhaps the thing I needed all these years
was leisure time without attendant guilt,
but Mom’s “you’re lazy” occupied my ears
the way tinnitus fools them now. I built
a schedule full of exercise and work,
with forays into creativity,
and then I’d judge how much of it I did.
I ran that fast to smooth my inner jerk
but lately I’ve reduced velocity,
and recognize the competence that hid.

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