The Last Stop

After years on his route

He sits still in humble shade

Reluctantly idling

In a lower gear

He sits still in humble shade

Slowly surrendering

To the winged passengers on his arms

The browning of his lawn

He starts slightly in his seat

To the four o’ clock

Tsik tsik tsik of his neighbor’s sprinkler

Bends a foot out of the encroaching sun

After years on his route

He reverses further from the road

Foot off the pedal- out of the sun

The last stop