Adjusting

I was excited to be retiring. No more feeling

reluctant to spend the day listening to

the idiocy of the cultists touting Dear

Leader’s pompous blather.

No more frustration with management

shirking their duty to train new crew

members, counting on the old-timers

to show them the way.

No, I was looking forward to marching

to the beat of my own drums, itching to

check off some of the items on that mythical

bucket list. You know, travel, spend more

time with friends, complete those projects

stacked up in the spare bedroom, maybe walk

the dogs at the Humane Society.

Instead, I struggled to set new routines,

to assign significance to what used to be

blasé, find the courage to poke my nose in

the gym with the other out-of-shape retirees,

renew desire to pick up old hobbies, finish

the quilts I started, go to open-mic night

and read my poetry.

Now I have triumphed over those early

mornings that became more and more difficult.

Having no boss or coworkers expecting

me to walk through the door. When the urgency

to be anywhere no longer hastened my activity.

Because I woke up to the surprising realization

of how burdensome merely thinking had become.

The jumping between synapses required so much

more energy! Even considering rolling over in bed

was onerous. Ditto when truly aiming to go for a

stroll in the park. But now I don’t let looking

out the window and seeing

the mist make me feel tired and slow.

Naida Lavon

3-25-2026

Exercise from the book Ordinary Genius by Kim Addonizio:

Take a line from another writer and use it as the last line in your poem.

I chose “The mist made me tired and slow”

from The Blue Devils of Blue River Ave

by Poe Ballantyne