Two Poems by Henry Wolstat

 

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.