Perhaps
This Wednesday night,
Dining out by myself, for the third time, this week,
I sense an urgent need to escape, flee, hide,
Spend my birthday, Friday, away from this city,
Among strangers, not friends I've never really made.
It's all a wonder, all too inscrutable, mysterious,
How, throughout our lives, society teaches us to believe
That we're entitled to special dispensations
Capable of warding off loneliness, a solitudinous future,
And yet we end up growing old alone.
Perhaps if I drive out of town, in a rental car,
Stop when its gas tank runs dry,
Set down roots in some Main Street's motel and café,
I'll delude myself into thinking I belong there,
Forget to observe my sixty-eighth birthday,
Find that life without antecedents, histories,
Free of personal encumbrances, responsibilities for others,
Could be the key to earthly serenity, eternal salvation.
And once there, I just might decide never to die,
Rather celebrate my spirit's infinite anonymity.
04/15/09 - (2)
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