Avoidance

When I was a boy I'd avoid him
with toys and games and childish certainties.

In pimpled adolescence, he'd lurk
behind my waning innocence.

As a young man, the age-old goddess
monopolized horizons he couldn't reach.

After the goddess, I re-mapped the world
to continue avoiding him.

And after church and altar, family demands
ensured he had no look-in.

He can't abide the noise of children,
their over-whelming  hopes and fears.

Occupied with earning wages,
my hours of working overlooked him.

When redundancy loomed, I sensed
his nearing silence press again.

After funerals he'd shuffle forward,
his hands full of dust.

It was difficult avoiding him then
after the farce of faithless ritual.

He's waiting up ahead:
after middle-age, after old-age.

Let us be reconciled, old friend,
there before my start, there beyond my end.