Retirement Blues

Neither anger nor reproach will
change the date on our time slips,
nor restore the keys to doors now
opened by other hands. We stand
outside the gates but the sun rises
and sets as it always does, and dogs
and cats go about their affairs, weeds
thrive, the temperature goes up
and down and we wear the same clothes
we wore yesterday. The mirror of
time’s lake reflects our wrinkles and
gray hair. We think of paths never
followed but dreamed of and forgot
how once it mattered if skirts were
short or if life existed on Mars.
I nearly fell off the back porch
yesterday when an oak tree bowed
(it may have been the wind), but even
accidental courtesies must be taken
personally to keep me from feeling
forsaken.