The older I get
The more refined
My sense of time.
When I was young
I drifted down a broad road
Composed of sunshine and flowers.
Now I trudge
Along a rainswept path
Littered with detritus.
Have my senses eroded
or been sharpened?
Am I more realistic
or muted by pessimism?
I drove to Sebastopol listening to the radio
Tom Petty, Muddy Waters, John Lennon, Jerry Garcia..
“They’re all dead”
I realized
“What if I live long enough
that no one remembers
John Coltrane, Bob Dylan, Billie Holiday…”
Sigh.
“Fie on them”
I said — like my grandfather
“If that happens
They don’t deserve my company.”
