The I'm Still Relatively Young Poem

I’m still relatively young.
I’ve yet to have a heart attack,
though friends would only be
moderately surprised if I did.
I have a career,
but who’s to say I can’t
switch horses in midstream?
(Bob Dylan, maybe.)
Married? Kids? Checkity-check.
Are my wife and I done having them?
Definitely probably not sure no.
Unlimited future?
Existentialism is best left
to the youth of today.
Do I fear the youth?
Only relatively.

The What Follows Rejection Poem

Sunshine avoids me today,
but the coffee grinder
asks if I can come out to play.
So I do.
But it is no toy
and now my finger is bleeding.
Clearly I am without a clue
my friend says,
sewing my fingertip back on.
I flex the digit repeatedly —
good as new.
I thank her for kindness,
her timing,
and, most of all,
for offering me that
thing no less practical
than a screwdriver.

The Poem About the Injured Lion

The songbird delivers the message —
a friend is in pain.
I want to pluck
the thorn from their paw
but I know I’ll only
bring them temporary relief,
because they live in the forest,
and the floor is awash with thorns.
And besides, I can’t touch them
because continents separate us,
and I live in my own wilderness,
with my own pride.
I can only hope the sun
will find them,
warm their mane,
and light their way
to a beast who will walk
the path with them.
And then they can pluck each other
whenever the need or desire arises.