All too soon you'll learn what
it means to get old.
Because old creaky, sneaky age will find you.
Like the summer fog
it crept over your toes,
wraps around your knees,
rusts your elbows,
kinks your neck,
muffs my ears
and blinkers your eyes.
And then on no date certain it covers you
like a soupy blanket.
Where are the lithe,limber limbs of your youth?
Joints that just yesterday
were models of mechanical perfection
this morning needed to be oiled and rubbed
with pain and warmth
to start a day of minimal movement.
The smart alec memory that stored put down trivia
now has vast empty space.
"What's his name?" has become the inventory number
for much once there.
The grey that rose from the tip of your beard
to the top of your head color codes you
for the lookers.
Harmless old fellow is a caption
you neither sought nor now accept,
except when you fall asleep in a sexy movie
or listen to a former student talk of grandchildren.
Me? I don't really feel too old.
It is a matter of viewpoint.
Take my pappy.
Older by a generation
and looking younger every day,
he frowns disapproval at me
when I even think old.
He works sweaty hard as a model for me.
He goes and I sit.
He is angry about politics and politicians.
I comfort myself
in well founded and restful cynicism.
He views my golden years through platinum glasses.
His humor is still sharp and its
gentle nudge smiles away my infirmities.
When I complain,
he asks me to pass the spuds.
After all it is a father's job to keep
the youngsters in their place -
older than most, younger than some.
He determinedly chases my fog back to sea.
So while you age my father won't let me play.