At 74.

At seventy-four

The drifting continues.

The current is still.

The vast distance covered

Is contradicted by memories.

Last and first

Are interchangeable.

The frozen wall clock,

Spins incessantly.

The mirror hardly looks

At the old face

While interrogating,

The young one.

A recent breeze carries

All the smells

Of yesterday,

Up the leaky chimney.

The over twenty-seven thousand

Days in the deck

Demand endless shuffling.

Every hand dealt,

Appears contradictory.

No one invited

The past to the sleepover,

Where regret met doubt,

And glances were exchanged

Peace remains an infrequent visitor

To the overcrowded junkyard,

Now filled to the limit,

With optimistic expectations.

Scribbled misunderstandings

Stacked on the old desk,

Above a lonely waste basket,

Impatiently, await judgement.

At seventy-four.

Interpretations of the poem, AT 74.

At 74…A visual representation…

1:07

At 74…A birthday reading.

1:05