A poem about aging |
MY FRIEND MAC Sometimes you can never go back to the clapping hands and stomping feet of the night they forgot the grace you lack and gave an old man a watch that beat, it’s way down the years well spent waxing the floors and clearing the vents proud gait folding straight to bent as he collected a pension with a wave and went, back to the days when his children were young when his hair was rich and his eyes were bright when he could hear each sweet note his wife ever sung to their boy as he slept in the deepness of night. When he rose each morning with an eager smile ready to conquer hardships and trials then his bones were young, shined shoes in style but now what he’d give for just one more mile. As he goes backwards again, back to his youth with a mother and father and rules by the book when he needed no reason, required no proof and could be bought with a wink and a pretty girl’s look. Fear was only a word, a word others said no one he knew was sickly or dead he ran down the streets never pausing to dread a gold granite stone becoming his bed. Now he can see as a child, the world is so big his eyes fight to close there is too much to do each breath that he takes, each hole that he digs leaves a space in the sand he made just for you. “Such a bright boy!” other parents would gawk learning so young to speak and to talk finding sure footing and starting to walk while furiously ticking are the hands of the clock, winding down a once agile mind that now accepts pity and soft patting hands that have medicines to give and bed sores to bind believe me old man we will all understand when our own oceans dry up and our sand piles go when our records are silent and spin no songs when everyone is someone I don’t know when days are short and nights so long. Please forgive the wisdom I lack I am not you yet, and this question you ask, I have no answer for you my friend, my friend Mac where do you go when there is nowhere left to go back? |