Tired Old Man

You’re tired because you’re tired.

It’s a phase.  It’s a feeling.  It’s a frame of mind.

Go drink some tea or take a nap,

or carry your tiredness on your back like a sack of bricks that

pins your wrinkled feet to the linoleum.

Well, all old men are tired

but some get over it.

Take a day off.  Sit on your brown

hammock and take off

your slippers and order some

logic puzzles.

Buy a hat or some sunglasses to

block that tiring sun

that makes you sweat out

your cup of tea

that so valiantly

fends off

your

tiredness.

Fends off what?  Fends off

your wig, your coat, your shadow,

all those years, all those calories burned

being, thinking, doing...

the marathon you could run twenty years ago

you can’t run now.  You can’t.

My darling, when it comes down to it,

when the warm light envelops you

and the fine mist invigorates your lungs,

and you’re resting in bed

but also swimming in the sky,

and the weak flame inside of you is finally quenched

and replaced by helium

or else a feather, or else foam,

none of us can;

or else we all can.