MAN IS AN ISLAND

MAN IS AN ISLAND

No man is an island, or so a famous poet claimed.
John Donne be damned, I think he’s wrong,
An island is my middle name.
It’s out of sight and out of mind for all my so-called friends.
Beyond the walls of our shared work life,
Their friendship it does not extend.

I cannot say I blame them, I could predict it plain as day.
All the vows to keep in touch that have been sent my way.
Could wallpaper my room with the scent of foul perfume
Man is an island, an instrument untuned.

Where are all the well wishers, where are all the cronies?
Some of them are parents, some are just plain phonies.
Some have obligations that I can only surmise,
It’s hard to uncover all the wherefores and the whys.

And I alas am just as bad, I am not above reproach.
I always am afraid to call, for fear of being a bother,
Afraid to hear I can’t talk now, why don’t you try back later?
In short I lack the confidence I ever touched their lives at all,
And so I wait, procrastinate, and watch the paint peel off the wall.
On the precipice with my memories, poised to take a fall.

Retirement can be a prison, if you let it be,
And I will not keep my life under lock and key.
I will find new friends, reclaim the old,
Extend my hand, be kind and bold.
And try my best to brave the cold.

No man is an island, John Donne is such a crock.
It’s Paul Simon for my money and his song I Am A Rock.
Life is brief and people fade,
We meet so solemn at their grave.
Fools who stand on shifting sands,
We are rocks and we are islands.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2010
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED