Poetry Thursday 164 - Jigsaw

 It was fashionable a number of years ago to need to find oneself which was superceded by gap years created for the same reason. In fact, if you go back to the Victorian era, the well-to-do used to go on a 'grand tour' of Europe. There seems to be a human condition that is based upon how our lives change at a variety of ages. Teenage years, mid-life and old age are three to mention. 

Jigsaw

 

I am not the bairn I was,

I am bits of that child,

I am not the teacher I became,

for almost half of my time  on earth,

but parts of the job linger,

caring  and growing,

obeying the silence finger.

Still a parent but not the mistake ridden, befuddled young one,

I am not the graduate of 86,

 but I still learn a daily new trick,

 

I am not as regular a drinking pal,

although I still turn out, sketchily,

and attendance at church is every Sunday, mostly.  

 

No longer ice cream man or milkman,

or caretaker or banker,

but occasional author, frequent poet,

would be artist.

 

I am  jigsaw,

an amalgamation of misshapen parts,

that fit together loosely,

allowing further additions,

or gentle atrophy.

©David L Atkinson September 2026

God Bless