Poem #2,772 | My fingers need to grip

My fingers need to grip
twenty-five years more
& then give out –
a haul
on mouse & keyboards
my labour
[plotterings
to be done until then] –
to keep me fed & warm
into ageing’s tight coils
of shortening time –
We
will live with difference
in weather’s attitude &
climate’s gripe –
I see it
re-set each day in spite
of claims of otherwise –
I’ll grow old in unsettle
days of strewn seasons
& shall entreat a shelter
[as my final indulgence]