Should I start to count
The fingerprints on my glasses?
The glasses I see through
Or the ones I drink from?
Should I play
A hand of pinochle
With my grandpa,
In the sunroom of his
Manufactured home
In Barefoot Bay,
Thirty years ago?
Once around the neighborhood
On my grandma’s tricycle,
As contentment rises
From each wheel.
A sunny day by the pool,
Playing shuffleboard—
Yeah, that’s the good life!
Stumbling along the sidewalk 