Every day, it seems
I’m inclined to recline
in my recliner.


And nothing could be finer
if I have a root beer float nearby.
I’m able to get high on root beer.


I don’t need
the cockpit of a boat
to fulfill my pleasantries
though there was a time
before I reached
about the age of seventy-nine
when such would have been
a wish of mine.


Now, I live in a Quad
in the state of Florida
which would have seemed
quite odd to me
a dozen years ago
but which I fancy now.


My, how I enjoy
reclining above concrete
my feet just beyond
the lower metal edge
of what holds me
almost horizontal
when I’m stretched out
and look about.


I see the pennant of my trike
waving in the breezes
and my wind machine
with little cups that catch the wind
and make their world go ‘round.


Oh, I have so much pleasure here
pursuing happiness.


I guess I should confess
that I have shed responsibilities
once laid on me
by virtue of the fact
that I’m a man who once
did earn a living
and who did a little giving
here and there
to make the world a better place.


And now, from time to time
I only write a little line of poetry
to offer folks a way
to see the world as I.
All this before the day I die.


But even after that, I think I’ll try.

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