Robert Paul Allen lives on a lake near the coast of Maine. He is surrounded daily by the state’s rugged beauty. He worked  in the medical field in patient care and has seen the gamut of human trials and tribulations. The human condition inspires much of his poetry. He has been a serious poet for the past five years and has published 49 poems. His first chapbook, Between the Panes has just been published. He believes he still has something to say.

Last Chapter                  

I dreaded my so called “golden” years,
fearing my final decades

would be fraught with loss 
of freedom and cognition. 

If not a shut-in, my good times 
would be shut down.

For years, my job had consumed my days, 
tortured me at night, wrecked my weekends.

Now, no worries about work, no surreptitious
sticky notes from my micromanaging boss.

I can clamber up the trails of Acadia, 
sing the Messiah with the Oratorio Society,

compose a prize poem once a month,
volunteer at the Hope House shelter,

play tennis or golf, go dancing
with the Saturday Nighters,

attend concerts at the Collins Center
or eat ballgame franks at Fenway Park.

I can travel any place a plane will go,
explore distant parts of the globe.

Or loll in my Maine camp on Toddy Pond
lulled by the sound of waves lapping the shore.

I bask in my children’s accomplishments,
shelve my guilt for their shortcomings.

Gifted with many grans, but no longer
in charge, I enjoy them for who they are. 

I report to no one, I’m almost 
never asked for advice.

Best of all, I spend my down time 
with my wife and partner for fifty years.

No longer the girl I married--but better,
Kind and discerning, we’ve grown together.