Crusty Codger

So where were we going

That we can’t look back?

The river keeps flowing;

It’s a natural fact.

The crusty codger

Dusts off his shoes;

Shakes off the malaise

Tries to find the groove.

Rip Van Wrinkled.

No thoughts of a score.

Easy does it swinging

Those muscles remain sore.

Here it is:

What was was.

Maybe life

Is a comet

Which is why

We circle back.

Or maybe

The path is an orbit

That reshapes

As if defines.
Kaleidoscoping

Into a brand new deju vu.

What are ya gonna do?

Nothing new under the sun

So they say at the beach

With Buffett towels and Coppertone —

As if portable grease

Will hide that pale crease.

Got it made in the shade

with iced tea and lemonade.

Some call it an Arnold Palmer.

No wonder

His army keeps plodding along.