by Carlos Borges
After thirty-nine years of work
He clocks-out for the last time.
Family and friends gather round
Eating, drinking – jokes abound
After thirty-nine years of work
What is one supposed to do?
Babysit grandkids – make art
Too many hours till it gets dark
Rocking in a chair at dusk
Smirking at the jets overhead.
Pension provides the daily crust
Summer heatwave rolls across
A lot changes after forty years,
But not the taste of cheap beer.
Vision and hearing declines
Twisting in bed like an ivy vine
Soft, green grass under feet
Swans honk at passing cars.
Thoughts wander, near and far
The dirt beneath is bittersweet.