Thank you to those who support me via my Paypal account: The government doesn't read my poetry. You do. Out of over 370 poems here on this blog by me, I hope you find one or more you like.

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Friday, January 25, 2019



I'm old enough
to have failed more times
than I succeeded
I believe I'm a success
It's the little lie I tell myself
to keep me going

I made it to old age
despite narrow escapes
in car accidents
a few infections and surgeries
thoughts of suicide
the triple icebergs
of stupidity ego and asininity
using the same washed pots
dishes glasses stainless ware

The occasional runny egg
drips into my beard
or onto my shirt
A needed vacuum
of every room
is delayed just as
a change of sheets
I made it to my mess
in which I think I live
with no one but gODD
to keep me company
He she or they listen

I made it to the age
where I have a separate
briefcase for my medicine
and a small box
filled with supplies
for testing my
well you know
that stuff that runs
through my heart
I learned
that mentioning it
is a turn-off for readers
Some people wonder
if I have a heart
I'm old enough
to have a crowd behind me
that wonders that very thing
but they don't come to visit
or phone me to yell
or write letters with threats

I'm old enough to wish
I had one person
a loving person really
to look cross at me
over breakfast
because I didn't kiss
them first thing
or help with laundry
It's all just me and my years
full of memory and regret
There are no comforts

I'm old enough to have
odd habits and old clothing
knees bad enough to walk
inside a cage
that little portable prison
with bars between me
and anybody who could
love me enough
to sleep next to
a gray old man
with a beard full
of crumbs and egg
Living in a mobile home
ain't like living in sin

I've made it
I'm a success
in my loneliness
just happy to see
a spider has woven
a new web

Barry G. Wick

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