The Next Generation

This wheel is slowing
to an aching pace,
pounding the life
out of this body. 

The shoulder grinds
and the skin loosens
around the mouth
and eyes.

Labor and the chores of living
satisfy those of us who work.
We find the value
in the ways we spend
a moment with our hands
dirty from peeling a mango
or bright green parsley
to the eyes that nearly close
while writing a poem
at the end of the day.

These perpetual thoughts
are a trance of the busy mind.
The mystery of the body
satisfying.

The next generation delights
in the slow torture of spaces
and less time. 

I close my eyes
and rest in this solitary
and silent place. 
Only the crickets
and the sound of passing trucks
on Rt. 9

Rumble on into the unknown
and you will find the strangers
you thought you knew
as children.

l