OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW
In the days of my youth,
I understood little about life and love.
White picket fences, a handful of children,
A career of great importance.
These were what I expected.
I’ve no picket fence.
My children are dogs and cats.
I’m the Managing Editor
of a little known poetry magazine
and a writer of unread books.
But it’s not as depressing as I describe it.
My life turned out pretty well.
For I love my dogs and cats,
I love the work that I do.
And I love sharing every phase of this life
with the one destiny chose for me.
I’m old enough to know
that things I once thought important
evolved into things that truly matter,
in more and better ways
than I could ever have imagined.
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FEELING OLD
The alarm clock goes off.
I shake my head to clear the cobwebs of sleep.
I shuffle downstairs to let the dogs out.
As my body rebels at this early morning necessity,
I find myself walking more and more like
my Dad did at 87.
And yet, in ten days,
I will only be 56.
Only?
Tell that to my pains and aches.
OLD EYES
With these aging eyes,
I find my life a rich one
through my cherished love.
AN OLD APPRECIATION
Older and wiser,
I am thankful for each day
as an unearned gift.
MEMORIES OF OLD THINGS GONE
Dennis Hopper passed away.
Georgy Girl, Lynn Redgrave, is also gone.
The Beaver, Jerry Mathers, is 62.
Mrs. Cleaver, Barbara Billingsley, is 94.
Not so long ago,
I watched Gary Coleman as a cute little kid on tv.
And today, another Golden Girl, Rue McClanahan,
left us, with memories of younger old girls.
Al and Tipper Gore liked each other enough
to share a great big hug and kiss at the
Democratic National Convention.
Oil was kept underground,
not filling up the Gulf of Mexico.
People entrusted banks with their hard-earned cash.
People looked to politicians to work in their best interests.
Republicans and Democrats were more concerned
about their constituents than themselves.
Paul McCartney received a Library of Congress award.
Although he’s aged well, he’s still aged.
I used to want a Saturn.
Now I drive a Mercury.
These and more go the way of the dinosaurs.
George Harrison wrote that all things must pass.
And so, I guess, they do.
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