Avoidin' Quittin' Time
by Odin odin@aflx.com — Read all 3,869 poems by Odin odin@aflx.com
It’s so easy to forget what we need while we’re chasing our wants.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Avoidin’ Quittin’ Time
by Odin Roark
Remember the anxiety
When 5 PM seemed years away
From that mid-afternoon break?
Laborers can’t wait
Secretaries pine for freshening up
Execs on the rise
Taste the anticipation
Jack on the rocks
Goose straight up
So it goes
So many watching the daily clock
Knowing time equals money
Yet needing a breath of freedom’s air
But where?
The ride home
Urban elbows and bad breath
Jammed into subway and bus confinement
Or
The short walk to where?
The bar?
The playground…kid waiting
The park…girlfriend waiting
The one room cave…loneliness waiting
So it goes
Finally retirement
Dreamt about for years
Lived out in…how long?
Surprising months?
Boring years?
How about depressing decades?
So it goes
Then there are some
Time clocks left behind
Anxiety and attachments left behind
Victimization and entitlements left behind
A naked wrinkled body
Free to be
Free to finally understand
Free to appreciate
How little is needed
Sparked a memory. One time I was at a conference on a Friday afternoon, staying in a Dallas hotel. I went to the bar for a leisurely drink about 5:30 PM. A guy came in and sat down next to me at the bar and ordered a drink. We chatted briefly while he kept his agitated eye on the freeway out the window. When he saw that the traffic had sufficiently eased off, he downed his second drink and rushed out of the hotel, presumably to slug his way home on his daily commute. I had to feel a bit sorry for him, so tied up by time that he had to drink every day just to deal with it.
Ron
budd
Free to finally understand
Free to appreciate
How little is needed
How so very true, and I learn this more and more, each and every day now, as I wander this world of ours.
But then if there were more, your words would not have so poignant a ring, now, would they?
If this be realism, and my world-view be fantasy, then oh how real this fantasy!
Roger
The money-go-round, that no-one jumps off, but are pushed off and left to live the remaining years.
Happily ever disaster.
A most erudite poem.