Matuinal Perambulation

Gelid morning.
Walk outside to smoke.
Try to clear my head.
Wake up to the day.

Twenty-two deer
amble past me on
Struggle Mountain,
seeking food in the
deep snow not
ten yards away.

I bow to their
mammalian majesty.

They ignore me,
continue on their
hopeful way.

The deer and
Struggle Mountain
are here to stay.

I’m only visiting.

Old hippy.
Old soldier.
Old man,
paling more
every day.

Can’t remember
books I’ve read,
faces of women
I’ve slept with, or
poems I’ve written.

Where did they go?

Life not unlike
Coitus Interruptus:

Nothing lasting
comes of it.