Why Not?

Alt Forest

I walk for transportation. People ask
where do I get the time to move that way?
As if a chance to meditate’s a task,
or trekking this topography’s a gray
obnoxious labor. What would I prefer?
The stress-release of walking on these streets
in mild weather, or incurring sure
distressing traffic and electric tweets?

Likewise, now I’m not working for a wage,
no longer hormone-driven or impelled
to multi-task – now I’ve attained the age
of looking longer, slower, time has welled
and given me some days to care for you;
there isn’t any job I’d sooner do.

This entry was posted in Aging, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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