No longer will a penny
For
your thoughts make any sense,
Since
there will not be any
Pennies
left to thus dispense.
A
penny saved, a penny earned –
Advice
that represents
Frugality
cannot be learned
Without
the evidence.
From
heaven, pennies won’t rain down
And
that’s a consequence
Of
a would-be king who lacks a crown
But
rules at our expense.
The sledding hill was crowded
And
I thought, as I walked by,
How
expressions can mean different things,
Which
age can magnify.
For
when someone says of sledders,
“They
are going downhill fast,”
That
same statement, for a senior,
Does
a darker shadow cast.
And
the same applies to “tubing,”
Which
my grandkids just enjoyed –
Quite
a contrast to the post-op tubes
Which
have got my spouse annoyed.
I’m not good with directions
If
they’re not in written form.
My
brain cannot retain them;
I
don’t know if that’s the norm.
So
whether it’s instructions
For
a project or a meal
Or
a way to get from here to there
By
train or at the wheel…
Or
the steps involved to tie a knot
Or
scarf around the neck,
My
attempts to follow explanations
Just
make me a wreck.
Yet,
when there’s an outline listed
On
a paper I can read,
I
at least will understand the ways
In
which I can proceed.
I
once read, it’s either left or right,
The
way our brains are wired,
But
whichever way is mine, I know
The
written word’s required.
Fifty
years ago we met
And
haven’t killed each other yet.
The
only thing that I regret
Is
that our time is waning.
We’ve
raised our kids and had careers
And
sat with friends for meals and beers
And
traveled far and wide for years,
With
minimal complaining.
He
has his hobbies; I have mine
And
sometimes they may intertwine
And
grandkids add a special shine,
Which
doesn’t need explaining.
We’re
lucky that, by fate or chance
Or
providential circumstance,
We
came together with a glance
Which proved to be sustaining.
If you’re older and somehow not dying,
Yet
live with dementia or worse,
Prepare
to be hit with some lying
Before
your last ride in a hearse.
This
strategy’s gaining approval
As
nursing homes struggle to cope
With
patients whose memory removal
Deprives
them of reasons to hope.
So
little white lies are suggested
Like,
“Your husband will visit real soon”
Since
the truth often can’t be digested
And
no time will be quite opportune.
Or,
“Let’s visit the nursery; maybe
You’ll
help rock your child to sleep,”
Where
a doll substitutes for the baby
Which
remains where the memories keep.
If
deception brings comfort, I wonder
Why,
to me, it just doesn’t feel right
Reaching
into one’s psyche to plunder
What
the mind has kept tucked out of sight.
No matter how long I might sleep,
Or
what are the hours I keep,
I
wake up at dawn
And
I stifle a yawn,
Never
leaving my bed with a leap.
For
I’m tired for most of the day,
Even
if waking up I delay.
Age
is taking its toll
And
I’m not in control
When
my eyelids do heavily weigh.
Still,
despite feeling any concern,
There
is something in this I can learn.
If
my tiredness shows
I
could say, I suppose,
It
sure beats being stuffed in an urn!
I heard it on the radio –
An
early morning crash,
The
driver’s fault and then her life
Was
over in a flash.
It
happened near my walking path
So
when I headed out,
I
knew I’d pass right by to see
What
it was all about.
The
F.D.R., six lanes across,
Had
not a car in sight,
Except
for police and clean-up crews
At
work to make things right.
The
car involved, a burned-out wreck,
Was
waiting on the road
Until
the inquiry was done
And
then it would be towed.
Debris
was scattered in the lanes
In
both directions, plus,
The
walking path had wreckage, too,
Which
no one did discuss.
The
car, a Tesla, slammed into
A
barrier and flipped,
With
flames caused by the battery
With
which it was equipped.
The
impact made the driver
And
the passenger eject.
Though
he survived, who knows the damage
That
he can expect.
We
may not ever learn just why
The
driver hit those speeds,
Which
well exceeded limits
That
nobody ever heeds.
