--By Kate McKay
By Mary Pignone
That’s the American way
I want to own a Porsche
When I can’t afford a Chevrolet
No more taking baby steps
We want the whole enchilada
So go for the gusto why don’t you
With a bank balance of nada
The Jones’s can’t even keep up
With debt as high as the sky
What were we thinking when we were young
Did we think that we’d just spend and then die?
Live for today we say
For tomorrow my never come
When it does and we fall on our assets
Is this where our stress comes from?
We want it now, we deserve it
And then we want even more
We can do if from the comfort of home
Don’t have to go to a store
Cars and vacations, restaurants and spas
Houses full of stuff
Does any of it bring fulfillment
When the piper calls our bluff
The best things in life are free
As the old saying goes
Too bad we don’t get that memo
Until our debt ceiling grows
Our things own us, we don’t own them
Cameras and alarms we install
What will we have to offer up
When we get our final call
By Heather Koelle
Lush green deciduous trees surround our house
Wild Raspberries paint a riot of ripe redness
waiting to be picked by my grandson and me.
In a college gym, I watch my oldest grandchild
Receive his high school diploma, while
The 200+ graduates toss their tasseled caps in the air.
The pool is open. Summer on the calendar has. not yet arrived.
My granddaughter, Anni, is lifeguarding this year—clad in a sweatshirt.
I transition my swimming from the warm YMCA to the icy water at Swarthmore Swim Club.
On Father's Day, I think of my dad, now long passed since 1988.
Now my husband is a grandfather.
Time is passing.
Our veggie garden sits neglected, overgrown with weeds
But somewhere in there hides a cucumber plant
And tomato plants ring the splintery wooden fence
Our breezeway, once built by my husband in 1967,
now sits with its wood paint peeling, screens full of holes, and drainpipes held together by
Could this be a metaphor for our marriage? Or for the aging of two people once full of life and
After many years of pattering little feet
Our grown children are now parents themselves.
Time is passing.
Yet the spark of youth remains in my heart
He keeps it burning. But_
the fire has turned to a glowing coal
Time is passing
For all of us
Who knows when the clock will stop?
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