I have recently realized that my job has become obsolete.
My arms are no longer necessary for a morning hug
or my kitchen with waiting hot cookies made from scratch
or my hand to hold on the walk home from school.
No one needs a ride to practice
or a uniform washed
or some late night editing of a paper overdue.
I have been made obsolete
by late night movies and Netflix series,
by coffee houses, kitchens of better company.
I have been replaced by BMWs and Audis
and critical, vital, interrupting texts,
a better ping pong table,
more lenient adults.
Made obsolete by a hopefully passing belief,
my runneth-over cup of days past feels almost empty.