You Want To Grow Old Like The Carters
Let other leaders
Retire
To play golf
& write
Memoirs
About bombing
Villages
They've never seen.
Growing old
Presents a peril
They may not
Expect.
It is to lose
One's soul
In trivia
& irrelevance
The nerve
Endings
Blunted
By the constant
Pressure
Of moral
Indifference.
Growing old
A curse:
Not even
Generally speaking
Able
To relate
To whoever
Shares
Your house. Not the mansion
You inhabit
On the
Lovely stolen hill
Above the sea
Or the interior one:
The darkened
Desolate
Shack.
You want to grow old
Like
The Carters;
Curing blindness
&
[...] Read more
poem by Alice Walker
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