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