poetry by j matthew waters

the art of waiting

from wall street to respirator
you are shockingly put out to pasture
sharing grass with retired pacers
and a flock of salt & pepper sheep

the main field is flat and wide open
the southern stretch uneven and rising steep
a rock & dirt trail meandering upward
an occasional bench located along the way

learning to commingle and rehabilitate
you stretch & imagine your ascension
only to pause at the final station
questioning the desire to go any higher

march two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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