Glory days are always the best of the best
but here I am pretty much done with the hurry up and get there era,
and am vigorously assimilating more of a hold on, I wasn’t done with that; wait-a-minute; perspective, to scoff at the memory of the rabid flames of more tender days when energies refused to be thrust anywhere but
into the future, and the rest of the time was spent playing catch up,
white-knuckled onto the tail-end of the last big thing that just flew by,
the last one.

Standing there while the merry-go-round
whirled in kaleidoscopic ecstasy dripping with wide-eyed,
smiling peers and waiting until the spinning frivolity subsided
and the lusty puffs of air abated
before proceeding to leap on with them and looking around
now adorning your face with their same jocular smile and finding
they had all flown off to the next big thing and left you
riding alone, the last one.

I wandered down the alley looking at the locked back doors
wondering what was left behind in the bolted cob-webbed caverns
because it’s pleasant back there looking at it now
without needing to remember how many times the vehicle of progress
refused to start and how often the morning train was missed
and the bus didn’t come and the alibi, the plan B, was executed without hesitation, the last one.

Swooping down to rescue everyone affected
by the snarled and inconvenient travesty commuting places
upon the greater society walking in the door at ten minutes past
whatever hour is required for commerce to march triumphantly into the morning coffee break without a proper cup and hope at least to find someone is left to assuage a sagging disposition when the meeting started 15 minutes ago and you are late, the last one.