Just because I’m almost 88 years old,
my wife objects to my going for a hike
in the 80-degree heat.
With her finger on 911—I leave the house.
I hear the bounce of a basketball—
no longer for me.
I pass, A baby in the car sign in the rear window
of an SUV—no longer for me.
A sign says, parking for Anna C. Scott faculty only—
no longer for me.
Comforted by a Wooree insurance sign,
stating—We will be with you—
Could it be for me?
I pass a rock with a chiseled message:
May the road rise to meet you.
It’s for me,