TAKIN’ A LOOK

 

When looking in the mirror,

Do we really see who’s there?

The wrinkles and the ripples

Below the thinning hair.

When we look more carefully

Through glasses to help us focus,

Are we searching for that cream

To provide some “hocus pocus?”

Is it becoming more difficult to

Remember where you’re going?
Or finding yourself on some bus

Without even really knowing?

The meals we plan then cook

We do with such delight,

But the joy we had in eating

Is forgotten the following night.

The questions keep on coming,

The answers “not so much”,

Getting on in age can be a bitch

But dying early really "sucks."

 

BETWEEN MIND AND BODY                  

    The distance between the mind and body

Becomes ever greater as time passes.

I struggle to run faster, eat more, oh,

Just demand greater effort to seem younger.

Yet, the muscles ache longer, the wrinkles more

Pronounced as the hairline recedes further.

Memory plays her tricks leading me to believe

I could some how run a 5 minute mile,

While owning a 34” waist wrapped around 

A desirable six foot, sub two-hundred pound body.

The “shades” are now gone, replaced by the

Not so fashionable wire rim bi-focals.

The “muscle” shirts-once worn with arrogance-are

Now replaced with thread bare flannels

To keep the chill out and the unsightly flesh in.

The rag top convertible has been replaced with

A three letter behemoth that has a sun roof to make

Me feel “cool” and forget the risk of skin cancer.

Fears of my mortality creep into my thoughts;

I wonder if my body will support enough years

To see my grandchildren dressed up for their

Senior proms, fly off to college, or even married?

Or, will my once-and always-beautiful bride

Still find me handsome and gallant as I struggle

To open the car door?  Or put the garbage out?

The heroics which resulted in the chronic back pain,

Now are only dim memories, a life’s story no one

Cares about, nor would be foolish enough to imitate.

The tools to record these thoughts have become

More sophisticated, out pacing the author’s

Desire to chronicle , if not impede, a slowing journey.