Photo: Community Easter Egg Hunt, Huntsville, Missouri. Photo credit to my father, Walter W. Smith Sr.

Measuring Telomeres on Easter

©Olan L. Smith, Easter Sunday, 2021

I don't remember what I said to whom

For what or why, when, and for what reason.

It's been one of those days of recollection,

Scattered thoughts like birdshot in the wind.

Oh dear, best measures my telomeres,

And see how many years are left on this old clock,

All wound up with nowhere to go, nothing to see,

Who, or what, when, where, and why the season

Of the day or night. It's quite the confabulation

To witness this on Easter Sunday of Twenty, twenty-one;

Birds chirping to tell me it is time to write with nothing

To say? Yikes, reach right through me and stab my heart.

Tomorrow will be better. I don't need an elder sitter,

Just slap my face and say, "Awake! Arise from your slumber,

It's time to reconcile the immeasurable stroke of life's

Heartbeat," now where did I put those telomeres?