Poem – You want to Grow Old Like the Carters

Let other leadersRetire

To play golf

& write

Memoirs

About bombing

Villages

They’ve never seen.
Growing old

Presents a peril

They may not

Expect.
It is to lose

One’s soul

In trivia

& irrelevance

The nerve

Endings

Blunted

By the constant

Pressure

Of moral

Indifference.
Growing old

A curse:

Not even

Generally speaking

Able

To relate

To whoever

Shares
Your house. Not the mansion

You inhabit

On the

Lovely stolen hill

Above the sea

Or the interior one:

The darkened

Desolate

Shack.
You want to grow old

Like

The Carters; 

Curing blindness

&

Building houses

For

The Poor; 
Making friends of those

Who believe

They must fight.
You want to grow old

Like

The Carters

Holding hands

With someone

You love

&

Riding bicycles

Leisurely

Where the ground

Is well known

& perfectly

Flat.
You want to find

And keep to the path

Laid down

Inside you

Such a long time

Ago.
You want to grow old

Like

The Carters:

Serene. Eyes

Twinkling

To be accused

Of

Not getting

It right.
Upfront, upright.

Speaking what to you is true.
A person rich in Mothers.

Beloved.
And:

Honoring what is black

In you. 

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