Red Letter

Red letter days
start out like the others
pregnant with promise
under ominous clouds
but beyond birthings and dyings
few are nailed down frozen
even holidays tend to melt
together. So every day is
an anniversary, we’re just not
sure of what. Most memories
don’t have dates associated
but float in clouds of good and bad.

So on my sixty-third crack
at this date, I don’t expect
to make history, but I’ll cross
the bridges I come to. One never knows
what’s on the other side, and
if I make the sixty-fourth
maybe I’ll remember this one.

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