The Book of Chaos: Retirement

I have spent years on the clock
and decades working with men
who lived hard lives and
who understood hard times.
I have been the young one
and now,
I am not so young
anymore.

What are we working for?
Better yet,
What are we waiting for?

Old men with tanned leather skin,
fish from the beaches of their retirement lives,
all too well, and all too old,
seasoned from their decades of life,
hands toughened from their years of work,
to which, if one is lucky,
then one is lucky enough to retire to their dream
and find themselves where else seems
like a lifetime has gone behind them;
yet, hopefully, they are alive and well,
and living somewhere in a southern atmosphere
where palm trees stand tall and curve
and sunsets bring out the orange in the sky.

If one is lucky,
then one is lucky enough
that life was not to tough or to hard
or too strenuous to their spine
that despite their years,
one can still stand up tall
or enjoy the sunrise from their front porch
without the decades of their history
reacting in pain.

It is beyond us, anyway,
the future or whether we, or you and I,
or if anyone will live long and well, or otherwise,
it is beyond us because since no one knows
the hour, or the day, or when the time is up
and since it is beyond us
to know when to hang up the tools
in time, or like others do
who work their life away
and never have the chance
to fish the beaches of their dreams
or see Aruba, at least once;
and since this is beyond us to know,
then it is time to know that time is of the essence.

. . . and time is always ticking.

I am closer to the end
than I am to the beginning of my career, and yes,
I have ideas and dreams and thoughts of
a quiet little spot,
perhaps somewhere down by The Keys
where the sunsets and sunrises
are like magic and the colors in the sky
or the winds from offshore breezes
or the sun drenched moments when, say,
our walks along the beaches are lengthy and quiet,
or easy, and more to the point; yes.
I have hopes that someday
all of this will not be in vain.

I think of porches by the bays of my hopes
and the quietness of an early morning,
coffee in hand, the sun is offering the first light
and daybreak is about to take over.

Ah, the sight of dawn from the porch
and the look of the water in the bays below,
as it reflects like a mirror
of the sky.

There would be no worries about the unpaid bills
or worries about work
or what might happen “on the job,”
and even the so-called past resentments
and all of the other unsettled disputes
could rest in a settle ideas of retirement
because upon the end of my watch,
I clocked out for the last time,
and now, the rest of my life is mine to explore
or to live, to rest some, or to dance some,
or migrate south
or find somewhere near the Mexico border,
where people smile and carry hints of heritage
or the physical attributes of their Aztecan history,
almond colored skin, almond shaped eyes,
and smiling brightly, welcoming me, even as a stranger,
to their town which is small and quaint.

I want to find places like this, humble yet
alive and so rich with love and an unknown culture,
which is beautiful and warm.

If one is lucky,
then one would have the chance
to see the fruits of their labor instead
of just their labor or the scars
on the top of their hands
or the callouses in their palms,
which essentially means
that someone worked their life away
for what?

If one is lucky,
then one would have to know
when to say “when”
and to know that
this would mean to know that life is on the clock
and that time is always ticking
and while no one is around to watch the watchmen,
and since their will always be another task or chore,
if one is to be lucky enough to enjoy the fruits of their labor,
then one would have to be smart enough
to know when to say “when”
before it’s too late.

I have seen old men become older on the job.
I have heard them talk about their plans for retirement,
moving out of state,
fly fishing, or taking up golf
or finding someplace to live where it’s warm,
or peaceful, or calm,
like the scene in my head,
which is somewhere down by The Keys
or living someplace where people are kind
and friendly or to live where people say “hello”
for no other reason than
it’s just the right thing to do.

I have worked with men who brown-bagged their lunch
for decades and saved all their pennies,
who made plans to retire
or to be out by a certain age,
but something unexpected happened
and life took a turn and something happened
to bring on another expense—so,
their dreams were deferred
or pushed back to a later date.

I have worked with men
who worked their life away,
who missed their kid’s little league games
or recitals or after school moments
or all the other important things and special details
that come with family life.
I have worked with men who missed this
because of their long hours on the clock,
which are necessary to keep a roof over their head
or food on the table,
and clothes on their family’s back.

I have worked with people who fed into their retirement
or who fed their pension
or some kind of dream fund yet
they stayed too long or “got out” too late
and while their plans were perfect,
their execution was delayed and
time ran out
before they had the chance to pull the trigger.

That’s sad . . .

No one should ever have to work their life away
or, better yet, after decades of service,
no one should work their entire life
and retire with nothing to show for it.

I want to be that old man someday,
tanned skin, standing barefoot
on some white sand beach.
The love of my life by my side,
the sun is high and the sky is blue.
The ocean is like a friend
and the town folks are friendly enough
to wave or say hello,
just because they understand
that we are all fortunate to be where we are,
and regardless of where we are,
we are lucky enough, if we are mindful
and so, if I am to be one of the lucky ones,
then I have to understand
that there is no luck, just plans,
efforts, and an execution of terms.

I remember my friend Clyde the mailman.

I was there when he said goodbye.
I was there for his last day.
He is older now.
And whether he is where he said he would be,
my hope is that the waters in his town are quiet,
and the skies are as beautiful as he hoped.

No one is going to care enough for you
to tell you this, but you have to take care of yourself
and beware, because the clock is always ticking,
and the watchmen are always watching—just don’t forget
to watch yourself
because it’s easy to lose track of time,
and it’s easy to hear the watchman’s voice
over the dreams we have.
And lastly, the last thing you want to do
is be late to your own retirement—
or miss out on it,
completely.