Still Flying Blind

I used to fly through life
with my eyes closed,
willing to face head-on
whatever blocked my path,
or pass it on two wheels.
I’d figure out which
when I got there.
When you’re young, you think
you’ll live forever,
because Death’s easily ignored,
sitting over there in his
dark corner smoking, drinking and
generally keeping to himself,
more patient than you ever could be.
These days I still don’t see
much of the road ahead.
It’s not because I still
keep my eyes closed.
Actually, the windshield’s
mostly covered by this giant
rear view mirror.
And Death’s riding shotgun.


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