Last Times

[milo]

Last Times


As age infuses every thing
from pain in hips to length of stride
one cannot help but wonder which
things one will not experience–
the trip to France, the Eschaton–
and even more, such places as
one’s been, but was that time
the last?

Will I see Dallas once again,
or twice, or never?  Who can say
if I will fly the stratosphere,
a passenger, to see Seattle
or Cape Kennedy, as once was,
or the Statue on its fortress,
Liberty, or Death come first,
to know is to have finished, making
questions moot?

But still, I wonder if that shadow,
Love, I’ve missed so many times
unnoticed, will expose itself
or keep on hiding just beyond
my blind eyes shrouded with a pride
which veils its insufficiency
until too late.

The path seems a little well trod for new poetry, because I am somewhat familiar with your work, I kept waiting for the turn but if it appears I never found it.  It is a common poem about a very common concept told in a very common way.  Also, it tries to tie itself up in a nice little bow at the end which is also pretty uninteresting.