WALKING TALL.

I’ve got the footwear of a much younger man,

And it’s all over the floor of my room,

As if I arrived too soon

Or was hustled for time,

But as that’s all over my face

I guess it’s safe to assume it’s the former,

In which case I must address

My resting hours

To the extent that I

Savour the shape of my day

A little more,

Or learn to wear more suitable boots.

But you can never turn your back

On traffic,

Especially when the sun goes down,

As I’ve found these many years,

And you have to learn to cherish

Your paws more

In the glare of day

And when the night falls,

As they were there

When I used them last;

Both working together

And independently

In order to heave my mass into bed,

But now they appear to be missing

Beneath the crumpled bark

Of my blankets,

And I’m left thanking God

For his obvious business,

And inability to willingly

Cripple me.