Poem of the Week|25| PASTIME


In my youth
I kept postponing the future
Again and again
Feeling I had plenty of time.

There was no rush
No sympathy
For bleak contemplation in parks
And quiet walks by the sea.
I was reasonably repulsed by the old guys
And maybe they think
They have seen the city
For they all carry plastic bags
With souvenirs in them.

There was nothing that could bind me to you
That mattered more
Than sleep in the afternoon.


The town was near
Friends were many
And a girlfriend or two
Who were well taught
Never to ask
When, where, how many.

But then, the weather changed
Hail struck
I became you
And you were old.