My fingertips feel odd sometimes. They’re cold
I note they weren’t so before, or numb
when I sleep cheek-compressed – the way I hold
them tightly there – or weakened in the thumb.
My hands have lost all fat, and now I bruise
if I so much as graze the wood or bricks
of home. Surprised we weren’t given clues,
I’m cataloguing some of age’s tricks.

We’re reading, learning, thinking less, and yet
my peers are readier to interrupt.
They don’t have long to utter – they’ll forget
they know and so they’re growing more abrupt.
I don’t know if it’s hearing loss or strokes,
but lately I’m preferring younger folks.