The mortals twiddle their thumbs, they
entertain fickle thoughts.  Eyes
are fixed to electronics as they wait
for the bus stop,
for a promotion,
for me to pass them by.

In their last season, I'm finally observed.
For the first Time, we mingle
with intent. We sit
watching grandchildren and
drinking coffee--slowing
down. A still moment; and then without fail
the mortal will pack his trunk
and journey to a place
that I cannot travel.

I am left, once again, to awaken the eyes
of the young. Investing
nudges and pushes, waging war against the clock--
All so that at life's end we might
if only for a brief moment,
be still, and sip joe.