There’s always wars to be won,

another mountain to climb,

with rattlers underfoot

and wild flowers to behold.

They soldier on with a fistful

of hand grenades, after a lifetime

of fear, euphoria, confidence

and confusion.

Now, they must prepare

for the world they don’t know.

Leaving bodies for compost,

their souls will discover

that junky love won’t help.

Good loving lights the way

to a place where you no longer

look at your watch.

Like on Fire Island, no cars allowed.

Everyone walks or rides a bike.

Smiling faces explain:

nobody speaks.

Sign language will do.

Bodily functions have ceased;

only reciprocal orgasms persist.

Everyone is stunningly creative.

and all art has an infinite shelf life,

Forget about reincarnating on Tahiti

surrounded by native beauties

with watermelon-size bosoms.

They will have no choice in the matter.