Sick day

I stare at the passing bus
Wondering how much
The wheels would hurt
As they roll over me
But it would be extreme
To watch my body bend
And break
Just for the sake
Of getting out of work
When the only reason
I don’t want to go
Is there is so much life
I want to live
(I think I may need a new job folks.)


Among friends

The fire cracks in the homely hearth
As memories and stories flow,
Recounting each our winding path;
Long years and days divide, we know,
Yet always we return at last
To ties which bound us long ago,
The memories of childhood past:
Of winter games amidst the snow.

When in some autumn year we meet,
And talk again of years before,
Will we in memories repeat
These patterns which the flames restore?
Of cherry whisky, tartan pleats,
Bad music choices fast deplored,
The plans which may yet come to be
And those that by the wayside fall.

If I should drift across the sea
Sharp memories of this may fade,
But always something here will be
That will not wane with groaning age;
A lifetime built of memories
The sum of which I’ll gladly pay
Whether my life shall set me free
Or drag me to an early grave.