ANOTHER APRIL

d'Verse Poets Pub--Imaginary Garden With Real Toads


What is this "growing old gracefully" shit?
Does it mean that you will not bitch
about your aches and pains?
Does it mean you won't wince when
women call you Sir?
And does it mean that you will
no longer be able
to hop up on the table at the dance
and drop your pants?

And if you did 
would they all just snicker
instead of scream?

I like to think of grace
as maintaining my own pace.
Each day the road is filled with
cars
trucks
motor homes
and bulldozers
gunning past me like I'm standing still
just because I'm doing only
ten miles an hour over the speed limit. 
If any of them had been on 
The Hindenburg or
The Titanic
they'd have learned that you 
don't want to always be in 
such a frightful hurry 
to get where you're going to end up.

Another April has come and gone
and I'm in less of a tizzy
more inclined to listen to
music instead of news
rollin' down the road to my man
Jimmy Reed wailing the blues.

So I'll take some time
to take the long way home
and when I run out of pavement
I want the radio to be playing
that same sweet refrain
as I fade into the topaz twilight.