There is no disgrace

There is no disgrace

It is part of the design

Once upon a time,

I was a poet and painter

A cabinet maker

With never a screw left over

To hide beneath a rug.

A welcome addition

A breath of New England

The modern way

With an expectation of success

Unbridled passion

A horse well ridden

Over cobalt mountains

Covering vast landscapes

Always in the forefront

Of the race

To build a future.

Whether here or now.

Perhaps in that moment

Or sometime other,

When the skelter

Of living is slowed

To the pace of a lame old nag

Barely quicker than walking

Stopping at every corner

Resting prioritised

Over action

Feeling lost in surprise,

Without a happy ending

Or space to hide

The leftovers,

Every screw, as loose

As a drunkard’s tongue

Joints that were once as snug

As dovetails,

Rattle and hum,

There is no repeat or respite,

Only disappointment.