Let other leaders
Retire
To play golf
& write
Memoirs
About bombing
Villages
They’ve never seen.
Growing old
Presents a peril
They may not
Expect.
It is to lose
One’s soul
In trivia
& irrelevance
The nerve
Endings
Blunted
By the constant
Pressure
Of moral
Indifference.
Growing old
A curse:
Not even
Generally speaking
Able
To relate
To whoever
Shares
Your house. Not the mansion
You inhabit
On the
Lovely stolen hill
Above the sea
Or the interior one:
The darkened
Desolate
Shack.
You want to grow old
Like
The Carters;
Curing blindness
&
Building houses
For
The Poor;
Making friends of those
Who believe
They must fight.
You want to grow old
Like
The Carters
Holding hands
With someone
You love
&
Riding bicycles
Leisurely
Where the ground
Is well known
& perfectly
Flat.
You want to find
And keep to the path
Laid down
Inside you
Such a long time
Ago.
You want to grow old
Like
The Carters:
Serene. Eyes
Twinkling
To be accused
Of
Not getting
It right.
Upfront, upright.
Speaking what to you is true.
A person rich in Mothers.
Beloved.
And:
Honoring what is black
In you.
