A friend of my wife’s is having a retirement luncheon tomorrow, so I looked for a poem about retirement. Apparently, not a popular theme. So I wrote one myself. First draft:
To re-tire is to put new tires on an old vehicle to go new places.
So where would you like to go?
Perhaps a community choir rehearsal?
Pickleball, anyone?
Shall we meet for a beer at Sam’s Place— in Casablanca?
Or maybe just leave the car in the garage and sit in the garden.
Listen to the hum of the hummingbird
the buzz of the bee
the whistle of the warbler.
When you used to teach that first period class, you can now open a book.
Work on that Sudoko puzzle.
Plant some dahlia seeds.
Or not. Your choice.
Consider: The day is wholly yours to do what you wish.
As is the week.
The month.
Indeed, the whole year.
Well, heck the rest of your life!
A thought at once liberating and terrifying.
But hey, you’re retired.
You don’t even have to think about it if you don’t want to.
For once in what feels like forever, you can
Just Be.
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