When I retired I swore

I’d fight for the causes

I’ve longed believe in.

I never wanted to become

a voice that went silent.

For the Earth is not the paradise

that it could and should be.

I told myself I’d get up

just like I did for work

but now do volunteer work.

Instead, it’s like I’m fasting

from a need to fight back.

I find myself settled into

a kind of homebound serenity.

Truth is that every day I swear

I’m going to get out of my pajamas.

It doesn’t sound like much of a goal,

but now daily it’s a very lofty goal.

I then remind myself that Brian Wilson

spent three years in his pj’s in bed.

Hell, Hugh Hefner spent decades in pj’s.

I don’t need to dress to impress anyone.

I’ve seen videos of people

in their pj’s at Walmart.

I’ve never been in a Walmart

but that’s a whole other poem.

I think I’ll put my robe on

and walk out to the mailbox

and get the daily newspaper.

It’s February and 15 degrees out.

Even if I had enough ambition

to actually want to go anywhere

it’s so damn cold outside

I’d probably just put on clothes

right over my ever present pajamas.

I later get a second wind

and have enough energy

to get out of my pajamas

and put on clean pajamas.

Drive by Truckers: “Thoughts and Prayers”

DBT: “21st Century”

“So tired you want to quit, then you get more tired, and forget to quit.”
Charles Bukowski




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