Growing Old
Feb 4 2010


Growing older
is for optimists.
As if to say growth
is possible,
despite this grizzled shrivelled version
of yourself.
Two words, pulling in opposite directions,
tempting you
with re-invention.

Or getting old, instead,
no matter how hard you rage
how passively submit.
Because it happens,
no buts, or ifs.

Or simply aging
in place,
the grim arithmetic
of a zero-sum game.
When addition gives way
to subtraction,
anticipation
to looking back —
what remains
what’s gone,
the accumulation of loss.
Which is not to say, of course
you’re keen on the alternative.

Hard work
and not for the faint of heart.
Learning to be invisible.
The small disabilities
piling on,
the aches and pains.
And to be alone, again;
as you lose touch with friends,
husbands die
and wives forget.

It happens so quickly,
from the prime of life, the leader of men
to seniors’ discounts
a sunny park bench.
Which is why you fully intend
to grow old gracefully
and defiant.

As it’s been said,
youth is wasted on the young.
You won’t make that mistake again.