End Game

My mother says of late she’s glad she’s old.
At 94 she’s odd, but that’s not new.
She’s lost her spouse and siblings, but she told
me that’s not what her blues are owing to.
Disgusted with the politics and press,
she claims she can’t take any more distress.
“Our country’s doomed” she blurts with busy tongue.
“I’ll leave the dire future to the young.”

Of course I’m not as elderly, but still,
I’ve harbored like opinion recently.
I’m glad to see protesting energy,
but worried that we lack the time and will
to heal the planet for our progeny –
(perhaps I’ll party less responsibly).

(Pushkin Sonnet)

This entry was posted in Aging, Civics, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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