For now there is play,
Frolics in filtered water,
Plenty of hot sun,
Plenty of machines
Driven by plenty
Of fossil fueled energy
To pump the water
Up and through, replenishing.
For hours at a stretch,
Evening and morning,
Body and daughter
Duck, splash, romp, and play.
Should the old body
Feel any remorse
At having arrived
At this merciful passage
Among the follies and pain?
Never. Rejoice and scamper
Through the glittering water
Since even creation reached,
Evening and morning, the end
Of those few creative days.
How soon everything invented
From nothing began
To fall prey to selection,
And much was taken away.
Let this light be benison.
Let the cancer come later.
Let these frolics be granted.
Let the lawyers come later.
We all know what they come for,
Zombies knocking on the door.
We know all the human games.
“What happens to the old when
They cannot cross the river?
Nothing. They remain behind.
Only the dog is puzzled.
The man accepts the nomad
Custom; he has come
To the end of his journey
And there is no place
At the end.” Amen.
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