Old Age

Older age being old is always ten years ahead: meanwhile I’ve decided to embrace my present age positively I walk, don’t run, affecting a dignified lumbering; if I stumble,I welcome kind people’s consternation glad of extenuation, I don’t mind being patronised, as when told, after easiest ramble, ‘you’ve done very well’ with a book, I’m allowed a sedentary slip into slumber, as catnaps or forty winks lead to longer life at night I sleep in short bursts, but the interruptions bring comfort, especially of tastiest night-snacks prickling twinges of bladder or bowel, though frequent, are a sign that I’m mainly cued for continence as a nod to Pilates or yoga, for one minute each day, I gingerly flex, despite protests, my joints’ hinges for breath and lungs I stretch, to put on socks and shoes, or pick up items that have dropped to the floor for hearing, I’ve tried a number of aids and, whatever the cost, will find one that works eventually for sight, after treatments I’m still waiting for, I’ll have glasses for reading not just large print when I often forget names of things and people, I forgive my brain, that’s too full of data if my personality narrows and I’m short on memory, attention or temper, I’m determined to broaden outwards, towards all those others whose condition and attitude is so much less positive than mine