Old
We are now officially well-aged,
we have grab bars in the shower
in case we wobble.
Yet somedays we spring out of bed
eager to take a slow run around the block
but mostly not.
We chat with strangers while waiting
at the customer service counter at Walmart.
Grumble about the price of eggs and the young
(meaning anyone younger than us),
with other cranky pensioners.
There’s a punching bag hanging in the cellar
that knocks the hell out of me.
She has silver hair not gray - silver!
I do a great impression of a balding old coot.
Life is still good
but not getting any better.
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