Sitting in my morning recliner,
old, worn-out and retired, nowhere
to go, nothing in particular to do
or be done, coffee finished for
the day, the third cigarette smoked,
74-years behind me, and the dog
in my lap lifts her head and looks
at me as if to say, what’s next?
These slow-motion crippled days
of mine usually lead to the same.
And truth be known, what’s next
was my thought not the dog’s.
I have a way of projecting blame
on others these days. I can get up
and go to the bathroom or sit and
wait until it’s damn near too late.
One and only one thing is for
sure today, history will be
recorded without the mention
of me or my dog today.
That leaves what’s next for me
is either to delay the enevitable
or muster enough gumption to
to get off my lazy ass and go pee.
- 30-
Chris Hanch 7-14-2021
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