Walk of Roses
I remember when I thought a dead-end street
was all the highway I was going to get.
There was no job I thought worth having
nor myself high on the list of those worth loving
still I kept a lookout for someone who knew
which way to go and what to do and how to make things right
and when he appeared (rather as if summoned)
I gave him everything that I had left
and when he didn't want a bit of it
and threw my jot of gold dust to the wind
like a madman I dropped everything and followed him.
Now near the end of my years, the lane by my home and the beckoning sea
I find is lined with wild roses. The scent
is unbelievable. Back and forth I walk with no more purpose
than to keep it in my nose, my only job to share with those
who have no walk of roses, because
the stink of an age that appears to be burning
needs all the opposition it can get.
25 June 2022
Texas Jim
Prospect, Nova Scotia
www.granitecoast.ca