Portrait of my Father
Sitting in the driveway
of my New Hampshire home
my father was sunning
himself on the occasion of
his first grandchild’s birth
sixty years ago.
Unlike Toronto, my neighbours
valued their privacy,
never exposing themselves
in front of the house;
perhaps it was ethnicity
or urban versus semi rural.
Eight years later
he passed away,
but I’ll always remember
him sitting in the driveway
joyful and relaxed.
Age is Only a Number
Entering my ninth decade,
used to run, ski, bike,
and explore the world.
Now, only in my dreams.
The nineties are the new sixties,
tell that to my bionic body.
I need a road map or
an easy to read GPS
to guide me for
my remaining years.
Fortunately, my memories
are alive in my mind
and not just a
Facebook photo.
Henry Wolstat is a retired psychiatrist in his late 80’s living in the greater Boston area with his wife. He is the author of a poetry book, “Driftwood”. He has also been published in both printed anthologies and online. He is passionate about running, the arts, and poetry.
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