Roger G McDonald: ‘Autumn shuffle’

Autumn shuffle

When I see old men shuffling out I know
I share their journey—at a distance—and
Gear my mind to slow. Do they wonder how
Life settled as sediment in their pond?

Shambling past, nothing registers in eyes
Frosted by serial disappointments.
I’m the blur at the edge of their unease;
Incontinental shelf; trembling imbalance.

Each step strips more investment from a hope
That only pays a mortal dividend.
Not all who creep downhill may toil back up.
I note my fate’s attached to their beyond.

Salud, mes frères; A pity that I can’t
Revive you with an urgency of art.
The swim against conformity has spent
My strength and I too soon must bow to night.

Roger G McDonald