With you close beside, only
Moments out of time.
Going home a must, leaving,
No hurry, no rush, but still,
I have a deadline.
I must rock it, so speeding,
The curves sneaking up,
At ninety, slightly leaning,
Not that I should be trying
Such, I am not fit,
But ah, the years fall away.
I remember when
Driving like a racer was
Routine daily, so again.
The typing it goes
Slower, I never was good,
And poems are hard
With the making scattered words
Come together on the field.
Since it is before
The midnight hour, I am done,
Count it victory,
I beat the cruel beast time –
Oohrah, I remain alive.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
