Happiness Is... Poem by Frank Avon

... if you're comfortably ageing
(on Social Security or a pension,
or, even better, both)
is not all that complex, to be

relative free of aches
not altogether, but relatively,
with acetaminophen,
having finally got over
the feeling of guilt
not to be working every day,
and just a few little extras:

a rocking chair or lounger,
a good firm mattress,
coffee every morning
and some good Earl Grey tea,
once or twice a week
a good hamburger, fried catfish,
pasta or spaghetti,
hot potato soup, pimento cheese,
one or two Oreo cookies
only once a day,
some good books to read
from the public library,
maybe a newspaper, maybe not,
a dog to pet and nurture,
a few flower pots to tend,
a window on the world,
some bird feeders nearby,
to porch or deck or patio
to enjoy sun and shade,
warmth in the winter,
cool in mid-July
(what we've gotten used to,
but in the old days,
folks learn to adjust) ,

if you're a boomer
some kind of shiny red car
and a few old LPs (Elvis,
the Beatles, the Police)
and occasional a CD,
maybe even Beethoven or Verdi,
if you're one from the Silent
who came of age in the Placid '50s
a movie every few days,
maybe a DVD or on tv,
mostly ones with suspense,
a happy ending, a good soundtrack,
and Hollywood-attractive leads.

A Big Bonus: children to make you proud,
scattered here and there,
a letter or an email every few days,
a Skype of the grandchildren,

and the Grand Prize - one we don't
deserve, could never earn:
a spouse who's really a better half.

Oh, yes, I believe in heaven,
God's giving it to me now.