We pay a visit every other day.
The residents are not diversified.
Most everyone we see is ashen-gray,
Caucasian-ancient, female, rheumy-eyed.
The corridors are windowless and long.
The care is fair but no one’s getting strong.
The patient looks I take are dull and dreary.
That may be why I woke today so weary.

It’s like I caught the tone of 95!
I drank caffeine and rode my standing bike –
I pedaled till I felt a partial fix.
I did a class when I hit half-alive,
and mended more. I reached a stage I like,
and now don’t feel a day past 56.

This entry was posted in Aging, Family, Health, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s