It's too late now....

.....for the dream daughter son husband 

to sit around with me on the beach blanket  

and talk in happy voices about their good jobs 

and good homes and good politics 

and breathe in the spicy gusts of sea breeze 

together, with a kind of ecstasy, 

and with all that combined happiness, 

lift me, cartwheel me across the salt dab sands, 

rolling head over head, lightly, 

end over end, lightly, 

on and on, like tumble weed, 

uprooted, inspired deeply, moved deeply, 

satisfied deeply, 

as if there is nothing I should be doing 

and they doing everything they should be doing.

It is too late in the day 

to change the day.  

All is all. 

But if I could revoke, would I?

Now that I've bonded so deeply 

with the anti-dream?