be eleven a.m. in the morning.
half the day
gone
and not a single thing done,
other than
coffee and toast,
with
pajamas still
on.
the paper retrieved from
the bush in
the front yard.
the lot is empty
down to the mailbox.
most the young folk
are gone.
off to work, with thirty
more years
in front of them.
i should get dressed and
leave the house,
put on an air
that life is still going on.
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