23,465 days, giver or take.
That happens to be 73-years and counting
for me.
And here I am old, hobbled and gray.
Less by degree than I was yesterday,
more than many, give or take.
How many times have I passed death
on the sidewalk, on the freeway?
How many times was my name ignored
and I simply went my way.
Chance or luck, some would say,
has a lot to do with it.
Everything and nothing was meant to be.
23,465 days, give or take.
Who’s counting anyway?
Only me, I suppose.
How much is that translated into
Greek, German, miles traveled,
freckles on an ant’s ass
or bologna sandwiches,
I’d like to know?
Life is mysterious and often
befuddling that way.
All I know is, it took that long
for me to write this poem.
This and that, these and
those—A lot of accumulated
days and so many ways.
-30-
Chris Hanch 9-20-2020
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