Slowly Does It

Often I watch the older people as they shuffle.
They are good,
They can at times, appear all mixed up.
That is because life is no longer dealing them
A good enough hand.
Their deck, stacked as it is, against a wall,
Catches its breath, then dawdles on.
Their habit had always been, to follow suit.
There is no slight of hand to see today.
Too weak these days to conjure,
These wrought Ladies and Gentlemen stop short,
Standing still like manikins,
Waiting for some lights to change.
Walk, don't walk.
But for most, life is already on red.

©2019 Christopher Thompson
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