When I'm Sixty-One

I'm three days late with this birthday poem to me, but who's counting?

When I'm Sixty-One
©2013 Susan Noyes Anderson


A happy birthday to myself!

I just turned sixty-one.

I'd like to say that things are great

and getting old is fun.

Instead, I'm going to vent a bit

and set the record straight.

Let's hope my aging brain kicks in

enough to concentrate!

I'm sad to say my memory

(which used to be top notch)

meanders now, like someone who

just drained a fifth of scotch.

It's up and down; it's in and out;

it's neither here nor there.

My brain is leaking grey matter

directly to my hair!

(That would account, I do believe,

for certain color changes.)

No doubt whatever youth dispenses,

old age rearranges.

Or maybe I should say exchanges:

satin-smooth for rough,

firm for saggy, round for wrinkled,

dewy/dry, soft/rough.

Enough! The years take liberties

with me, without consent.

No potion, pill, or lotion seems

to lessen the extent.

So here's my new position, just

because I like to win:

Bring it on, Age! Make me crusty.

Who needs silky skin?

And with thesaurus close at hand,

what use is word recall?

Hey, old is the new young, you know.

Why stand, when you can crawl?

;)

"Age is an issue of mind over matter.

If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

Mark Twain