Yesterday, I was visited by a couple of very accomplished gentlemen, one of them my younger brother, both of them retired (as am I) and we talked about the things we are doing and the things we done, and what we believed. It was a lovely couple of hours.

Later, I went to a demonstration, and noticed that the crowd was younger than usual even though it was a weekday, because usually it’s all people my age.

Even later, I was reading the subreddit about retirement, where a gentleman was complaining that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with other old people in a 50+ community, doing “activities.”

And yesterday was a day of economic protest, as well, so I managed not to spend any money. This is not easy these days, since so many of my payments are automatic, but I lucked out. I have few expenses.

So of course, as I was drifting off to sleep, I started composing a villanelle about retirement, because that’s what my damn brain does.

and after that

We all will work forever till we die
While paying off the balances we owe
Hard as we grind, we’ll only just scrape by.

As kids, we lay on lawns, looked at the sky
And saw infinity above. Our plans were vast.
(We knew we’d live forever, and not die)

We asked, why algebra? Why physics? Why?
No reason, said our teachers. Just get past,
work hard, do well, or you will just scrape by.

And not get into college. So we tried.
Surprising, then, that college was miscast;
we'd work hard later on. We wouldn't die, 

Not yet. We finished school, we had to buy
so many things, and pay off loans. Time passed,
we worked forever, hoping not to die,

not yet. And then we finished. We looked at the sky.
And saw infinity above. It’s here. At last.
We worked forever. And maybe we would die,
but no, not yet. Perhaps we'll still scrape by. 

It’s not really a poem, it’s just in the shape of a poem. The thing about first drafts is that you have made them, and then you can replace every one of the words.