Rancho Mirage, California
Not exactly Palm Springs, but almost.
I sit at this little table outside
On a balcony overlooking a fountain,
An occasional fly buzzes about
Me as the heat of the afternoon now
Begins to settle into the spring of
The Mojave Desert. We’ve come here to leave
The northern cold of home for a little
While since winter was brutal this year.
It’s good to be able to do that now
As I begin to grow old and don’t have
To work anymore. There is a strangeness
To it, this retirement. I could still
Work but I don’t have to and I guess I
Don’t really want to. Seeing places I’ve
Never been to, taking runs far away
From home then returning to familiar
Can bring a sense of accomplishment and
A feeling of getting old while knowing
There won’t be much left of me for my kids
Just as I know there’s not much time left of
My parents. It seems like I have to see
All I can before there’s nothing left of
Me. And that, you see, can be a little
Bit of melancholia that we all have.
Some of us are plagued by it just a bit
More even while we experience joy
Beside fountained ponds in the afternoon
Settling heat of the Mojave ‘neath
Palm trees under blue skies near snow capped hills.
April 2023
About This Poem
This is just a reflection I felt (and sometimes feel) as a retired person. I was vacationing in the Coachella Valley of California with my wife's brother and his wife. We had a great time, but the sense of being in waiting for the grave sometimes just hits. This poem is about that. The picture is from exactly where I describe in the poem, minus the fountain.
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