I am retired
But
I am not
Tired (not all the time, anyway)
I will go to a care home soon
Where I will be cared for
If I’m lucky
But
I still care
And
It won’t be home
I’ve heard it’s our fault:
Trump
Brexit
The racism
The homophobia
The kids who will never afford their own homes.
I never wanted any of this
So much hate, so much division, so little opportunity
I taught my pupils to open their eyes, open their minds, open their hearts
Confident
They would have it better than us.
They would be Happy
and
Kind (that’s all I really wanted)
Now grown up
They scowl at me (do the young still say ‘scowl?)
When I venture out (or venture?)
In their way
Too slow, too unsteady on my feet
An imagined enemy
Consuming their inheritance
I’d like to reach out
Like to talk to them
Share my knowledge again; learn about them
But
I don’t think
They can see me.