One Thing After Another
Dec 2 2022
It's like a relay race
to the finish line,
passing the baton
from one body part to the next.
So no sooner does the back relent
than the elbow bark,
and just when that seems to be settling
the shoulder aches
and a knee begins to swell.
One thing after another,
until the baton gets dropped
and you're disqualified.
Welcome to old age.
To a succession of loss
and small indignities,
followed by the bigger ones.
To niggling regrets
and lowered expectations.
To disability
and thoughts of mortality
and a diminishing circle of friends.
When men lose influence
and women become invisible.
And impertinent young people
who don't hesitate to let you know
that what you just said was sexist
and unacceptable these days.
Not when men
no longer have all the power,
and women are more
than how they look.
Which you let go,
remembering
that political correctness is nothing new
even if the expression is.
That you were as self-righteous and supercilious as them,
before age taught you humility
and how to laugh at yourself.
A race
where the fix is in.
Because time always wins.
You can hear her footsteps
close behind
as your gait inexorably falters,
ever more quickly
closing the gap.
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