Payday in October

Up early before the light paints the sky,
I sit down in front of the computer
and get a stuffed possum for my daughter.
Kids like the strangest things.
He's cute, Daddy.

Rent gets paid.
Electric. Phone and cable.
Groceries, cat food, cat litter.
The usual shit
that keeps a man off the streets.

Then there's a book.
Another poetry collection
out in the world.
Cover finished. Pages printed.
Now comes the hard part.
Post it. Promote it.
Tell the world it exists.
Maybe somebody buys it.
Maybe they don't.

Meanwhile,
the leaves have started turning
outside my window.
Squirrels are digging furiously
in the yard.
That chill is back in the air.
Funny how that happens.
You spend the summer
trying to get somewhere
in the beautiful green,
and then October is standing there
with its cold hands in its pockets.

Soon it'll be winter.
Then another spring.
Another summer.
Older on the fairway.
Maybe less slices and hooks.

And somewhere in there
you realize you're not twenty anymore.
I'll be sixty next month.

Son of a bitch.

I remember being young enough
to think sixty
was practically in the grave.
Now I'm looking at it
from the other side
of the hourglass.

I've paid some bills,
lost some friends,
written some books,
and made a lot of mistakes.
I hope the years gave me wisdom,
because they didn't do a damn thing
for my posture and eyesight.