There is a Meander in My Walk

INTRO:
We are taught to read slowness as failure. The body that lags, the page left unfinished, the morning that finds us still in bed; these are the small indictments of a life supposedly winding down. But there is another way to hold them.

The meander is not the decline. It is the reward.

By Vincent R. Pozon

They say there is a meander
in my bones and walk
I am frequently behindhand now

I wake on the side of early really
by a shade before the birds go off
even when the day tut-tuts

throws a beam through the louvres
the two mugs of coffee wait to be made
I will only creak to bright and ready

I could never dog-ear a book page
for when I was gaunt
money hesitated going to books

but now I do as in a slow dinner
fingers relishing making the fold
I dog-ear anything and time itself

Reckless I pause the ruckus of the world