Thirty years or thirty days

Thirty years, or thirty days

the future hides while we close our eyes and count

so we place our bets on a past track record

 while time races in a tight harness.

Thirty years, or thirty days

this could be the last car we’ll need;

while the cost of health escalates

we learn the algebra of convergence.

Thirty years, or thirty days

we revisit old travel photos

consider one more trip to Europe

but decide against another cat.

Thirty years, or thirty days

we hear that another friend has cancer

and someone we know has been knocked from his bike

yet the daffodils return each spring.

Thirty years, or thirty days

No news is good news, the nurse once said

so we’ll take that, blind to what’s beyond the bend

and sign up without reading the small print.