Ronald Moran, “A Life Not Yet Led”

Ronald Moran
A LIFE NOT YET LED

So now it is official, the last quarter, no doubt
to be
abbreviated, has begun in a flourish of notices
in my mail,
offering clinics in hearing loss, urgent care,
as well as

package deals for funerals, cemetery discounts,
and, yes,
mostly ads for retirement villages, where
a couple,
tanned and healthy, are smiling to a visual
backdrop

of a white gazebo on a lawn sloping toward
water,
a peaceful blue, the hint of a sailboat distantly,
and, O yes,
the good life still before you, if you can afford
to pay,

which I cannot, or else I would be there. And,
why not?
I am living alone, and maybe now I should
check out
the bargain basement villages, with one meal
two rooms,

700 square feet, one closet, a microwave,
hot plate,
and all the water you can drink, inclusive,
as if
on a vacation to St. Lucia after the seas rose
on a tide

of global warming, leaving patches of dirt,
some sand,
and all the guests huddling on high ground,
waiting
for a helicopter, rowboat, trained dolphins,
anything

to get them back to where they came from,
and refunds
for the life never led, but always promised
in the mail,
on the phone, online, and drawn in the sky
like clouds.