I lived a half a year past 66
and called my age the number of the beast.
The digits made 18 (mathematic tricks),
and that’s the Chai denoting life, at least.
Numerical coincidence aside,
the fact is I’ve lived long enough to know
it isn’t what’s intended or what’s tried
that matters now. My conscience tells me so.

Henceforward I will not feel insecure,
regardless of the circumstance or mood.
I don’t say I’ll behave but to be sure,
I’ll love my shape and like my attitude.
I’ve wasted too much worry to this point,
and won’t waste more. I’ll nap after this joint.