It was just a canvas briefcase...
Zippers... pockets... and a name tag,
A satchel for my papers,
A carry-all... a tote bag.
Then one day it turned up missing.
I searched for it in vain.
Either it was stolen
Or I'd left it on the train.
When I finally reached retirement,
The thing I found most humbling
Was the loss of hand-eye function.
I kept dropping things and fumbling.
The dinner plates were Melmac.
No loss there... they only clattered,
But the glassware was distressing
As it squirted free and shattered.
I now have no such worries;
Someone does all that for me.
My room is air conditioned,
And my nurse tells me I'm free
To think upon the grand Hereafter
And cogitate at will... if that's
The word I'm... Afterhere?
Upon... think... what?