I recently turned sixty-six:
an older dog, with no new tricks.
My back is stiff, as are my knees –
and exercise will make me wheeze.
I’m watching my cholesterol
in hopes the effort will forestall
a chance of coronary bypass
(family history sways the die cast).
Hearing aids are now in place;
gray hair frames my wrinkled face;
taking pills for pain relief
(a lengthy list; I’ve kept it brief).
End is closer than beginning
(one more: hair’s now really thinning).
Wiser? No… just that much sadder
(also, problems with my bladder).
Ceaselessly is how time marches
(shoes have inserts for my arches).
People ask me, “What’s the matter?” Fact
is: my right eye has a cataract.
Losing height as spine compresses.
What’s your name? I’ll need three guesses.
Cognitively, I’m declining
(I spend hours each day whining).
A year has passed on Medicare –
so, with apologetic air,
I’ll trust that I have decades left
ahead of exiting stage left.
Yeah, I know how it is. I’m on Interstate 60, and it’s going faster every year.