We are told that as people
we need others, community
where some meet under a steeple,
some under a tree.
For that I used to get paid —
but after fifty years, enough I say.
My need to be with people fades
as I enter time marked by shadowed days.
While others think I’m up on a shelf,
I have just enough will
to deal with my many selves —
who prove very interesting still.
Oh, the love of my life.
She has put up with those many selves
She is my dear wife.
“Oh, dear one, (Don’t say.) has it been
heaven or hell?”
She just stares.
Oh, and the Chocolate Lab?
She, too, just stares. What a pair!
Without me, wouldn’t (Don’t say.) your life be drab?
Whatever, I’m still having fun
in my community of one.
And while I still have time to make hay
I, too, will be known as the community “they.”
I’m not finding the right comment on being alone in a world of people who know you, people you know, some of whom love you; most are merely acquaintances who wouldn’t notice your passing, but you might not notice theirs either. Everyone is an island floating in a sea filled with other islands; some of them chocolate lab islands.