Ironic, Isn’t It?

For the first time
In my life
I don’t know the man
Pacing me
In the glass storefronts
Along the avenue.

I’ve let my hair grow long
And my beard came in white.
I wear clothes I like
And not the uniform of society.
I’ve swapped my ball cap
For a battered Charlie 1 Horse.

The old Chevy truck I pilot
Suits me fine.
I don’t need an onboard computer
To tell me where I am
When what I really want
Is to get lost.

In contrast to convention
And the dogma of the day
A Swisher Sweet is sometime
Exactly what I require.

This is far from
Midlife crisis
Because I’m way on
The far horizon
From midlife.

What this is
Is
A purging
A slicing and dicing
An adventure in loss
A reduction in force
A right-sizing.

The freedom I want
Is the liberty I long ago enjoyed.

Ironic
Isn’t it
That as a man ages
He eventually returns
To the same point
From which he began?

But this time
I'll take fries with that.