My Neck Is Red, My Arms Are Tan
My Neck Is Red, My Arms Are Tan
By Rick Rucker
My neck is red, my arms are tan,
I was, not long ago, a working man,
I retired, some weeks ago,
The Sun comes up, I have no place to go,
My Love is still asleep,
So, very quiet I must keep,
And now, the light sweeps across the room,
Deathly still, much like a tomb,
I should be in my car,
Fighting others, driving far,
I now start the coffee pot,
Soon, it will yield that beverage, hot,
All past mornings, at this hour,
I would have exited from the shower,
And had something small to eat,
And planned my day, complete,
Now, all I do, is to mutter,
Knowing that all I will do is putter,
My chores do not fill one hour of morning,
That seems to be an ominous warning,
At work, I would do this and that,
Now, I spend the morning like the cat,
I spice up my rest with naps,
Practicing for when they play me Taps,
Perhaps I will learn to embrace the morn,
Happy, again that a new day is born,
That is, of course, a hunch,
But now, it just seems a delay ‘til lunch!
You may think me daft,
But, now that I no longer ply my craft,
The dawning of the day,
Takes more of my Pride away!
8/6/2012
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