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.