The philosopher Eliot wondered if he dared At an age when I chose to join the Marines, Neither the subject of modern poetry One would think perhaps but decisively Present in the hand that brandished the pen Regardless of the consequences. Perhaps it's a matter of muscled Stamina or the withheld strength Of his mother. Mine though strong Enough for my brother hadn't power Enough for the reins or if she did I never noticed behaving as though I could choose my own course within Limitations I didn't always see. And now not seventeen but eighty I've no wish to eat a peach Or wear my trousers rolled Seeing instead a red sky From my window and rushing To make Susan breakfast Before the day is fully upon her. --- This email has been checked for viruses by Avast antivirus software. http://www.avast.com