Recovered
That was when he heard
The car turn into the lane.
He heard it pull up behind him and stop.
Doors opened.
Slowly Henry Worthington
Turned to face the inevitable.
Sometimes, I forget
The word that I need.
Then I lose the will.
Sometimes, I stand
And wonder why
With the toast under the grill.
Sometimes, I remember
What I used to do
Glad I’m not there still.
Just glad I’ve time
To do what I want.
It’s great being over the hill!
The four men strode towards him.
Opher – 2013
I rediscovered this strange poem in the course of my move.
It blends two elements.
Not being tied to work, to the prostitution of long hours spent doing what one has to, is a delight.
The thought that time is running out and you are not functioning as well as you used to is frustrating.
The wait for the first signs of the inevitable is a constant blot.
Really enjoyed the poem, it was like a short story.
It was a bit – a strange one.