The unartful dance

Children play street hockey on the cul de sac,
Pushing off their skates in imitation
Of those who play for a living.

Teenagers gather for a party,
Their cars littering the driveways and street,
And I do not hear their laughter;
I just see the smiles on their faces
As I drive on past.

An airplane soars silently overhead,
The passengers sitting in controlled comfort
Above my head, flying to who nows where
And who knows what
Or who awaits?

I sit on this stoop and I sip my bitter beer
And I consider the passing of the world
Around my bare head
And the thought of my father's recent passing
Is not far from the surface of my unavailing thoughts.

The world moves past
And I must cast off my lethargy ultimately
And take on the task of the moment
And the moments to come,
For the world will not wait for my joining.

The unartful dance continues.