Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Senescence


I remember writing
on my thirtieth birthday
a haiku about wind
and cold rain
on the eve of November.

Nearly 28 years later,
I laugh at my young self
thinking he was old
and hope I will amuse
my octogenarian self
if he lives to read this poem

about my vanishing hair and
my old man legs
and my I-don't-care-what-
they-look-like-I-just-
want-to-be-comfortable
shoes,

about how I will own my age
as I will own the cane
that I will inevitably need
someday,

how I will kill
the role of 
cantankerous old man
before it kills me

and how I hope to die
on a gusty autumn day
that my spirit might

dance once more
in a swirl of orange and red
before wafting away
to nothing.   - Jeff Barnes

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