in four years or two

who hasn't heard 

the complaint

of the working

class,

the white collared

or blue,

how they talk about in four

years,

or two

they'll retire and be set

free

from the ball and chain,

the shackles

of the office,

the mundane,

the day in day out 

of endless

work.

and yet, you see those that

have arrived.

you see them in the stores,

shuffling vaguely 

with empty carts

or at the lake

with loaves of bread

feeding the ducks, walking

slowly with

what may be tears

in their far away eyes.