I THINK I'VE MADE IT

 

In my skittish youth 

I often worried 

I was losing my mind. 

Not the romantic, Byronesque 

version of madness, 

but flaky ideas, 

psychic torment, 

losing my grip. 

I did get through school, 

had several good friends, 

stayed married, 

was a passable father, 

performed my job to its end, 

despite the many

pitfalls and perils 

along the way. 

When I retired they gave me 

a comb and brush set 

but I kept them in the cellophane 

to keep them from getting tarnished. 

Now that I’m firmly entrenched in old age 

I never worry about losing my mind. 

I think this means I’ve made it.

Twelve Years Ago This Autumn (An Ode to Retirement)

Half past six, our alarm screams out 

My spouse lays out my jacket and tie

Rush hour, gridlock, stops and starts  

My daily commute, a chance to die 

Who needs this? 

I scan yellowed notes, get primed for class 

One hundred deadpan undergrad faces  

My deepest fear, they’ll find me boring

No way I can gain the crowd’s good graces   

I feel a migraine coming on 

Tuna salad, I lunch at my desk  

Then off to the weekly faculty meeting

We pick at the rules for the umpteenth time 

Searching for an answer to stop student cheating  

Beating a dead horse

I meet with a grad student about her thesis

No way I can think of a workable topic 

Failing to give even subpar advice

I fear that my brain is becoming myopic

Anxiety and shame, doldrums

Back to my office, an hour of my own

I work on an obtuse research paper 

The findings are bland, the conclusions obscure 

Time ill-spent on a dead-end caper 

What is the point exactly? 

Postscript (Twelve years later, here and now) 

My biggest worry when I retired 

How will I ever survive without work?  

It took two days to make my transition  

Surprise, surprise, I’m no longer berserk  

Life is gentle, life is kind