Prognosis Unclear by Anita S. Pulier

We needed no directions
convinced we knew the way
too busy to check the maps
compare the routes

only now with offspring grown
and colors turned to autumnal gray
do we wonder ifwe were lost

for one indulgent moment
we wallow in the pity
of the shortened road

survey the view as far
as necks can crane
over sharp bends
around hairpin turns

hoping to
reorder control redirect
redefine and comprehend
the unstoppable race
as it replaces the journey

stumbling on a kind of
accidental dignity
by calling off the search
for more original metaphors

accepting the ordinary
as good enough
knowing nothing
can keep at bay
the inevitable surrender

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