It’s a good thing we develop a taste
for adventure when we’re young—

that urge to plunge across the river
and climb the mountain ahead
comes in handy

as we sit in waiting rooms
nodding to others who are trekking
through the land of needles and drips.

It helps to recall the feel of horse hair
in your fist when you galloped bareback
across the mesa, on those brilliant days
when you were more Geronimo
than Socrates.

The landscape is new,
but you’re still the star
of your Oscar-winning rom-com thriller,
only now you have to watch your step
and hold on to the rail
when going downstairs.

Now that you’ve earned a PhD in irony,
you can chuckle at that kid
in the blue Toyota
speeding down Main Street
believing it really matters
whether he gets where he’s going
sooner rather than later.