Beneath the Blanket, a Rebel

One more old man, broken on time's wheel,
Takes refuge in a chair. He knows how much
There is to do. He isn't blind, and, if he was,
His helpmeet still would give him lists. She'd
Leave them for him, punched in braille, but he
Contends he's lost her list, and, jaw set in absurd
Defiance, sprawls, and plans to take a nap.
The nagging exigencies of existence never go away,
But, with old age, one recognizes when he's
Done enough.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 112 times
Written on 2018-12-20 at 20:05

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Precise and compact. Well-writ!