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| A really gnarled tree in the Redwoods National Forest |
“Age: a figment of your imagination”
Age is a figment of your imagination
unless your body chimes in
usually at inappropriate times
as it has learned to do over time,
even with maintenance and exercise.
First it is the back that pops out
during any standing conversation,
pulling on socks, rising from a chair,
leaning down to pull weeds,
or just moving in a direction
that the body doesn’t want to go.
Then, the knees clamor for more
attention, no matter what you are doing.
Always a bit jealous and needy,
they ache for days and then stay
quiet, a bit docile for a few hours
or more, until you attempt
to climb stairs, forgetting you
have climbed stairs your entire life
without any trouble or problems.
The eyes have to join the orchestra, too,
fill with water, glaze over when you try
to read, with or without cheaters,
and cry with little or no provocation.
Somehow hearing believes you
need to listen but can’t or won’t
or pretend at mostly inopportune times
before it shuts down altogether.
Memory is the biggest disappointment of all,
forgetting a word or two here and there,
then whole phrases and events,
intruding at the most inconvenient times.
You just hope your spouse is there
so you can look at her and she responds
exactly with the right word or phrase
as if she has heard the story before,
which most likely she has dozens of times.
It’s never fair at any time, especially now!
So fickle! So uncompromising! So insensitive!
Then, as if they are a misfit orchestra
or merely a band out of tune,
their notes bang together, screech
from every fiber, from your head
to your toes, all vying for your attention
at the same time, not agreeing
on the tune or the melody.
Often, you wish each would
just take turns, maybe sit out a
song or two, maybe a few movements,
or even the entire symphony.
But our tickets are for the seats
where you hear all the noise,
feel all the creaks, groans, and moans,
and suffer the incorrigible resonances
and defeating tonalities of age.
fill with water, glaze over when you try
to read, with or without cheaters,
and cry with little or no provocation.
Somehow hearing believes you
need to listen but can’t or won’t
or pretend at mostly inopportune times
before it shuts down altogether.
Memory is the biggest disappointment of all,
forgetting a word or two here and there,
then whole phrases and events,
intruding at the most inconvenient times.
You just hope your spouse is there
so you can look at her and she responds
exactly with the right word or phrase
as if she has heard the story before,
which most likely she has dozens of times.
It’s never fair at any time, especially now!
So fickle! So uncompromising! So insensitive!
Then, as if they are a misfit orchestra
or merely a band out of tune,
their notes bang together, screech
from every fiber, from your head
to your toes, all vying for your attention
at the same time, not agreeing
on the tune or the melody.
Often, you wish each would
just take turns, maybe sit out a
song or two, maybe a few movements,
or even the entire symphony.
But our tickets are for the seats
where you hear all the noise,
feel all the creaks, groans, and moans,
and suffer the incorrigible resonances
and defeating tonalities of age.
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