We’ve pros and cons at any age, and yet
the decade I would call the worst to date
has got to be the 5th. Did you forget
the multitasking brooking no debate?
The loss of will or skill to stay up late?
Diminished stamina, uncertain time?
The start of body aches that don’t abate,
besetting what all claim should be your prime?
From half past dawn till nearly noon, the peace
was fractured by responsibility.
The tones of power washing didn’t cease,
and every pane was polished visibly.
The next event did nothing to decrease
the obligations – scheduled dentistry
is necessary but uncomfortable.
With costly elements, my plate was full.
Construction paper, tape and scissors small
enough for them and usable by me,
assembled on the table I’ll recall
and reinforce with pix and poetry.
Instructed by 3rd grade authority,
a 4 year-old and I each made a card.
We followed his directions happily,
compatibly, in sync and not on guard.
Well more than once, a doctor’s looked and said
a minor issue won’t heal on its own.
“You’ll have to see a specialist instead.”
But I’m forever lazy with the phone.
What could it hurt, to talk to blood and bone
or better, my immune system, I think.
I did that, and though why is quite unknown,
the matter rather soon began to shrink.
The first rain of the season made my roof
attractive to loud animals. My dreams
were broken twice by thumping, skidding proof
of scavenging or racing chasing schemes.
By silhouettes on skylight glass it seems
I hosted first a rowdy raccoon set.
Some hours later, by the early gleams
of dawn, on rain-wet glass two felines met.
Of all the critters in this garden yard,
the squirrels often give the most surprise.
Appearing light, they hit my rooftop hard,
in thumping races for whatever prize
is up or down – persimmons or supplies
redeemed from refuse (raiding like a rat).
They’re vandals who look cute to human eyes,
but terrorize the landscape getting fat.
Eight days ago, I woke to 65
degrees inside, and turned the fire on.
The flames shot bright and lit the logs alive,
and I admired it through stretch and yawn.
It charmed and warmed, reminding me that I’ve
no better winter heat. Turned off at dawn,
I look ahead to all the days I’ll use it,
when chill in spine and fingers will excuse it.
When I encounter this, 2 years or less
from now, and choose to edit it or not,
I’ll recollect today without a guess;
I’ll have no cause to murmur “I forgot.”
That’s why I daily find some lines to jot.
October 12th of Twenty Twenty-five
was Sunday feeling well, without a lot
I had to do, and glad to be alive.
The streets were so cluttered I needed a break:
old shoppers at Ashby, young students at Miles.
Who knew riding BART could relieve a small ache,
allowing alone to regenerate smiles?
I boarded at Rockridge – 10 minutes I’d take
in respite from dodging humanity trials.
Now somewhat recovered all ready I am
to further my trip on an underground tram.
I didn’t want the visit, but the should
resounded till I booked the yearly scan
(I aim to spend these seasons feeling good
if possible, so I’ve a gentle plan
to catch the weaks before they’re fails, and span
the acts with exercise and healthy eats).
I set a walking course when I began,
and made a goal of ambulating streets.
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