I cannot give the play a good report,
although I hear much media approved.
The stagecraft was impressive – just the sort
I like to see, but I was barely moved
by storyline that didn’t sense-distort,
but offered nothing novel that behooved.
The lunch and talk were good. I’m glad I went,
but hope that next time, time is better spent.
If I were feeling critical, I might
condemn the way they misprioritized
their yesterday, when what would have been right
was more and early visit (I advised
consideration, never heard). Last night
some neighbors, even younger yet, surprised
me with their texted inability
to think. (But neither fault is harming me.)
A poet pre-explained her suicide –
she lacked the will to edit any more.
That resonates a bit. If aging pried
my judgment off or my ability
to edit who I am, if when I tried
to modify my attitude I failed,
if change in brain condemned my thoughts to slide,
and took away my longing to explore,
I might launch plans to have me ossified.
Four hours mid last week I got to spend
with both the souls I loosed upon the earth.
They rarely share address or mood, and tend
to gift me with diversity since birth.
They’ve each acquired mates and kids they lend
to me to love and witness. Ever worth
ambivalence, humility, and will,
how fortunate that we are thriving still.
The last two calls, I sense a further drift
away from logic, sense, and memory.
She needs a prompt, but isn’t acting miffed
when I supply the cue or clue. So we
converse about not much. It seems to me
she’s slipping but she doesn’t note the pale.
Expected at this age, I hope I’ll be
aware, though pained, when it’s my turn to fail.
The best vocabulary voiced to me,
from one I dined and chatted with for years,
was lost in ravages of memory,
when he was under 70. The ears
of my ex-husband, one who understood
and loved acoustics, playing any song
by ear, who worked all instruments with good
ability, now suffers hearing wrong.
Were these sad cases caused by overuse?
Did they exhaust their senses over time?
My brain’s my favorite part – is it abuse
to exercise it so on puzzles, rhyme,
and thinking?
Use or lose it, I’ve believed,
and earnestly I pray I’m not deceived.
Already aiming to move slower now,
sidestepping injury without a twist,
and trying taking longer speaking (how
to end a habit likely never missed?),
I’m also noting talking might consist
of questions placed in declaration’s stead.
The truth is, curiosity’s my gist,
and I should match my manner to my head.
I cannot find the gate. I’ve lots of time,
but get deflected over and again.
Too many passengers demanding prime
attention, crowded concourse, hurried men.
I seek Two Thirty Six, but first a yen
for candy stops my steps – I won’t conceal it.
But I can’t find a free cashier, and then
I pick a pack of sweetness and I steal it.
We’re complicated creatures, and we might
have made our species talk so we can lie.
Some good do bad. Some evil gets it right.
So many plots are driven with a sigh,
frustration mounting to a speechless height
and simply cause a character won’t try.
If you would search for someone you can trust,
then make her love of self-esteem your must.
There lives a sock monkey with me,
handmade once to aid charity.
I bought him myself
and he rules from my shelf.
He’s now paper-crowned regally.
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