review

It has been fifty years,

Well, no — that’s not true.

Once you carry the seven,

It’s been fifty-two.

And in fifty-two years,

No vast rise, or succumb.

Slower than many,

But brighter than some.

_____

So now, halfway through,

Time, the older man’s chore.

To weigh and assess,

All I need answer for.

Not a trial, inquisition,

Or a stern talking to.

But a chance to appraise,

It’s my midlife review.

_____

So I found a nice tie,

A clean shirt and a coat.

And I drove to the place,

Spelled out there on the note.

To a part of the city,

Not been to before.

I walked to the building,

And right through the door.

_____

Once inside the office,

I strode down the aisle.

Where a man at a desk,

Sat there reading my file.

He stood and bowed, hi,

Rolled to me, a chair.

Walls the photos of all,

Those before me, hung there.

_____

Then he spoke with a smile,

Well, I’ve good news to tell.

On your choice of a spouse,

You did quite very well.

She is loving, supportive,

And in church, volunteers.

Did not kill you, not once

In all twenty-three years.

_____

Then stirring through papers,

To find the right page.

On your kids, here again,

Mostly high marks to gauge.

Sons are happy and strong,

Tender hearts they have grown.

Both to soon make their marks,

They can think on their own.

_____

But now, that part over,

Smile fading from face.

He shuffled the papers,

Let’s back to your case.

In the asset department,

You must surely know.

That your financial levels,

Are shockingly low.

_____

I smirked and replied,

Mine, more lofty pursuit.

Don’t you know that with evil,

It’s money at root?

As you see, it’s my family,

The center for me.

Not the stocking of wealth,

Here in this life, agree?

_____

Then he took off his glasses,

He then rubbed his nose.

I think there confusion,

We should here dispose.

See, the standard for this life,

Not to wealth be driven.

But be the good stewards,

Of all we’ve been given.

_____

And I see by these files,

That you’ve wasted a lot.

Some, they make more of,

But time — they do not.

So the question remains,

Although here not bereft.

Now what will you do,

With the twenty years left?

_____

Just twenty? I mocked,

That seems a bit lean.

Well, he said, rounding,

It’s more like eight-teen.

You will die on a Wednesday,

The fifteenth of May.

Which is eight-teen years,

One month, from today.

_____

What? I said, shocked,

As I let this sink in.

I know, this news hard,

But we must now begin.

You need to make plans,

To ponder in thought.

So what will you do,

With the years you still got?

_____

And I sat in that chair,

With my heart in a twist.

‘till I finally did speak,

Well, I do have a list.

But before I could finish,

He stopped me there, true.

This gift you’ve received,

It’s not about you.

_____

You’ve been handed this grant,

Not to ski down a slope.

Not to climb up a mountain,

Or zip down a rope.

You came into this world,

With nothing you own.

And all that you have,

Is simply on loan.

_____

And soon on a day,

Eight-teen years from now.

You will stand before Him,

To answer your vow.

And when that linking,

From this world is free.

What for the kingdom

Did you do for me?

_____

He handed me pamphlets,

And wished me good luck.

And I dazedly shuffled,

Right back to my truck.

And I sat there inside.

Letting set that review.

So little time,

And so much to do.

BY:

evdemorier@aol.com

Everett De Morier has appeared on CNN, Fox News Network, NPR, ABC, as well as in The New York Times and The London Times. He is the author of Crib Notes for the First Year of Marriage: A...


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