Not yet



I am not ready
Yet
For the park bench
Retirement
Or the sidelines
The final days
Of watchful waiting
Being cast aside
With pigeons and squirrels
Banished
As it were
Exiled to wander fields
Just full of weeds
Or forgotten dreams
And regrets
Blowing from here to there
Like empty plastic bags

My clock has not run down
The pendulum still swings
Back and forth
As before
Marking the passage of time
And my grip on this hammer
It is still firm and sure
I can even now pound words
Into poems
Create songs that cause the heart to soar
Capture a sunrise
Or a child’s smile
As if it were yesterday
And time was just a passing fancy