My eyes are all gone. I think it is
age. Or diabetes. Five years ago
I could scrutinize anything. Visually.
I woke up this morning with an ache.
It was a general ache. Generalized.
I couldn’t tell where it began or stopped.
I know I’m not dead yet. There are times
when I feel quite alive. But then there
are days when I want to cling to a bit of
the zest that still seems to bubble up on
occasion. Maybe it was always this way.
As a child I would get headaches much
more frequently than I do now. I search
for a sense of humor and realize that is
almost the same as a search for a
companion. I’m not that old. People
who take on the character of a
curmudgeon, no matter what their
age, seem to serve a purpose. But is
this my default? The simplicity of
these thoughts are tedious with a tinge
of cringe. But mostly these meanderings
are sad. I no longer live in a coffin-
sized hotbox. Just as I am no longer a
hotshot. Haven’t we all witnessed
those of a certain age become rising
stars, be up and coming. Late bloomers.
But that sounds like so much work to me.
I could sit in bed and rock back and forth
until I feel awake. Perhaps there is a salve
for this, a pill that might take me right
out of it. Do I rather want to dwell upon
the tick of the clock, the tedium of age?
To identify every ache and the collapse
of time that supposedly makes them so
prevalent? This character grows tiresome.
No more of this. It seems that I have rocked
myself awake. Now I’ll attempt to continue
this day from the perspective of my youth.
Fingers Crossed
