You can have your Taj Mahal,

Galapagos and Great Wall.

I will no longer leave the comfort

of my bed and blanket.

My wife suction cups my sciatica,

and I know my way in the dark

to the Jacuzzi in my own bathroom.

I treasure the tranquility of my yard,

rest my galloping thoughts,

wait for cherry trees to bare fruit

and watch hungry hummingbirds

gorge themselves at my feeder.

Wild turkeys and deer skedaddle.

I settle into a hammock to read,

or dream about the cavalcade

of clouds rolling by.

Less than 10 minutes away I relish

a plethora of ethnic restaurants.

And where else can you get

the best everything-bagels,

mouth-watering Sicilian pizza,

and a movie theatre showing

the Met: live in HD?

All my old friends who aren’t yet dead

or demented have travelitis.

Compelled to see as much of the world

as they can before their lives come to an end.

Don’t bombard me with travel brochures,

and require me to race to airports

at 4 in the morning to encounter men

in shadowy places with swarthy faces,

and the desire to remove my head.

I’ve slept in bed-bug-ridden 5 Star Hotels

for the last time! Home, the only place

I want to be, where stillness washes over me

in comforting simplicity.