Gail White: Cynic At A Funeral
This life doesn’t last.
Love won’t hold it fast,
Nor all Buffet’s bucks.
Mortality sucks
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Judie Rae: It Begins With a P
You know you’re old
when the word you are seeking
eludes you, though you can
recall with crystalline
awareness
the first letter.
For hours
you contemplate
the matter,
watch as the robin
picks berries
off the plant outside
your window.
Poinsettia?
No, that’s not it.
It’s also not primrose
or petunia.
At 3 am the answer
comes: pyracantha.
Of course.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Felicia Nimue Ackerman: A Crispy Thanksgiving
I'm grateful for crispy-skinned turkey
And pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream
And freshly made biscuits with butter,
A dinner fulfilling my dream.
I'm grateful for loose-fitting garments
That cover my bulge without fail.
I'm grateful that one of my cronies
Has tactfully hidden my scale.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Alexander Blustin: Aftermath
The lawn will win. Of that I’m sure.
The grass, when fickle life has fled,
And underground I mow no more,
Will ripple gaily overhead.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Philip Kitcher: The Aging Gardener’s Lament (For Jean)
If you want to be happy for a lifetime, plant a garden.
— Dutch Proverb
Through the ages the sages and savants have said
gardens make us enduringly happy –
but after assaulting an overgrown bed,
when I’m dirty and sweaty and feeling half-dead,
the mot juste would appear to be: crappy.
When the pollen count’s high, I do nothing but sneeze,
in the droughts I stand in for the rain.
I’m worn out by my bouts with mosquitoes and bees,
I have shoots in my shoulders, and stakes through my knees,
I’m a nursery-nurturing pain.
I confess I may curse at an obstinate weed
(and my insults are often obscene),
but I still struggle on, and refuse to concede
that I’m over the hill and fast going to seed –
just no longer as spry as I’ve been.
I shall try to live up to the gardener’s role —
I’m inspired by proverbial chatter —
though I take great delight in achieving my goal,
and agree that a garden is balm for the soul,
the old body’s a different matter.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Bruce McGuffin: Hearing Aids
My memory's not all that great
But mostly my brain works okay.
My children, who think that I prate
Ignore every word that I say.
When kids talk I have trouble hearing.
I guess, but I often guess wrong.
My hearing aids keep disappearing,
And that’s how we all get along
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Russel Winick: Senior Citizen Running
I’m proud that still at sixty-six
A daily run stays in the mix,
Except when neighbors get to talking
Saying: “Hey — I saw you walking!
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Donald Sellitti: Invisible Man
I will never ever see again
the back of my left knee again
Not so much as one small glance
down at it when without my pants
lest I confirm that subtle pain there
is coming from a dark blue vein there.
I avoid likewise the viewing
of up where baldness may be brewing.
A ban on mirrors face to face
to not observe my crown in case
the strands have thinned beyond repair
and I must live with loss of hair.
And it’s the same for leg and arm
and all the skin that’s come to harm.
I look away now every year
to shut out what’s my greatest fear —
I’m not a model fit to scan
but a marred, ungainly, common man
who, shunning flaws that make him risible,
is slowly turning quite invisible.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
John S. Eustis: Facebook Message to My Sister
Hi. Last week I had an emergency eye exam
after seeing flashes of light in my peripheral vision.
It's called PVD, and is fairly common and harmless,
but can sometimes indicate a retinal tear. Luckily,
my retina was intact, and my symptoms went away,
so I guess I'm all right. The doctor said it's
"just a normal part of the aging process."
In that case, all I can say is: Aging sucks!
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Robin Helweg-Larsen: Disappearance
I’ve always been around, since before I can remember,
so it just would be so strange, if one day I should dismember,
and my body disappear, like a swallow in September…
Will there be no glowing coal? Of my life survive no ember?
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Russell Winick: Golden (?) Years
Most everything
Is hard to hear,
Except that ringing
In each ear.
Sore hips and knees,
Bad back and shoulder,
Just some joys
Of getting older.
Keep this vague, please,
To be wise.
Our bathroom visits
Can surprise.
My gratitude
Would still be deep
If I could get
One good night’s sleep.
But then the worst thing
Aging does
Is . . . . . . Is . . . . . .
Can’t remember what it was.
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
L. A. Mereoie: The Shorter Seven Ages
Goo-goo!
Gown-gown!
Girl-girl!
Gun-gun!
Gas-gas!
Ga-ga!
Gone-gone!
