friday night

the bank
has all my money
but they make it hard to get it out.

I keep putting more in,
getting ready
for old age,
for the oatmeal years
when my teeth are gone.

I look at rocking chairs
in the windows
of big stores.

I think about collecting stamps,
or coins,
or taking up
painting by numbers,
or putting together puzzles
late into the night.

I make another deposit
and the young
kid behind the glass smirks.
he's thinking
about girls and food, drinks,
and fun.
fast cars
and the clubs downtown
where he can dance
all night.

been there, done that, but
right now

i'm thinking about a bowl
of hot soup
and cnn,
the antique roadshow,
a good book to curl up to
and read until I fall asleep
at ten.