Old

I can’t believe I’ve gotten old,

Though in the mirror, truth be told,

The face that’s looking back at me

Is not the one I’d like to see.

 

We all feel 17, I’ve read,

Despite the life that we have led

In all the intervening years –

The joys and sorrows, laughs and tears.

 

It isn’t just appearance, though –

Things once done quickly now are slow

And overdoing’s a mistake –

By 8 p.m., I’m half awake.

 

No late night dinners served with wine –

The early birds now suit me fine

And on the train, I get a seat,

With “Ma’ams” to make the deal complete.

 

With friends, we talk of failing health,

Which finds us with increasing stealth,

So doctors, bloodwork, every test

All come our way to keep us stressed.

 

Where once the future stretched out far,

I realize now, which is bizarre,

That I am running out of time

And all I’ll leave behind is rhyme.