Foreign Objects
What, I wondered, would advanced age be like.
Sighting the elderly set my mind to rousing.
Becoming like them overtook me with fright.
But now I'm old with no need for browsing.
Memories of earlier days occupy my thoughts
Which time romances to render them splendid.
Now it's difficult to connect any lot of dots,
And voices are subdued and confusingly blended.
But above all else, what drives me quite mad
Is to awake from slumber with pain extreme
In some place in my body I never knew I had.
I struggle to keep from shouting a scream.
Curiosity causes me to question my M.D.,
Thinking I have some undiscovered part.
He smiles benignly and chuckles at me,
"That's part of a minor vein to the heart."
That knowledge strikes me as unfulfilling.
Of what else that will hurt am I unaware?
But that specter I now find less than chilling
For the truth is (yawn) I'm too old to care.
Copyright © Paul Schneiter | Year Posted 2015
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