new wrinkles
||
old you/th
||
a long time
||
in short grass
||
.

He’s got wrinkles instead of pimples,
That’s the way the story goes.
He’s outgrown growing
Except for his nose.
His memory works fine for things
That happened years ago
But what he ate yesterday
He doesn’t seem to know.

He used to sing and dance a bit
And now he just walks
For a couple of miles a day,
As he passes by folks
He stops and talks.
He catches up on how they are
And what is new with them.
But for what they said
His memory grows dim.

It’s not important to store the tales
They tell him of their lives
Of children’s accomplishments
And the health of their wives.
The important thing to him is more
To not be alone that day.
He passes time and smiles,
And enjoys life that way.

His hair has gone almost to white,
Without nearly as much pep,
His voice has gotten reedy
There’s a halt to his step.
But he has time for people and life
And he still writes his stories
That he tells to his friends
Who care to hear his glories.

I turn yet another year older
Another year my grew fonder
Yet another year of expansion
Yet another song to call my anthem

I dream once again of pastures gold.
Of midnight jesters, and pleasures old.
I remember the scent of the forest,
The Moss and the snow.
(Did I know?)
With sober certainty of waking bliss,
I look upon Willows red and chestnuts green.
Will I wake one day to find my body aching?
The thought never occurred.
So I continued.
And stood passive to see
corporate Christmas lights-
bridge lights at One AM.
(Og missikken stopper)
Hiking through ruins and fairy tale cedars
to roadside gas stations and gone under theaters.
Under the shadow of the hills at dusk.

The scent of coffee fresh to sell
drifts past us on our way
to fast food parking lots beside midnight hotels.
Music and roses late at night.
The sun beating down and blinding,
Once winter has broken free from the bonds of Christmas.

But I fret, I age and I fret.
(Will I do something that I regret?)
And how will I spend my time?
Imitating an aging cat?
I would rather watch the cars at night by the water,
music paused
than drive myself.
I've considered my ways and turned my feet.
I will remember my song in the night;
I will meditate with my heart.
And why? Out of all I did, why did I never have the mind to ask:
“When all is done what will I say?
Will I regret a single day?”
And what did I think when I said:
“I have time to hesitate,
to make my plans but decide to wait.”
To count every grain of sand and call it de rigeur
To give up early and call it a tie.
to turn off the light but not know why.
I should have been born a floating balloon.
I should have dragged myself through the trees.
And I watched my life.
I revised my dreams
to fit reality.
And was it worth it?
May I reverse the clock?
And did I spend too much time tending the lawn,
And not appreciate the grazing fawn?
(Og missikken stopper)
I find now that I bore my own hell.
And I only vaguely recall
the trips I took, yes, I forget!
(or regret?)
And what motions did I follow?
Shall I give up? Am I defeated?
(When did my hair get so thin?)
Now I've grown weary with my moaning
and the cycle will soon burn out.
Shall I give up what I began?
I must be defeated.
No.
I shall remember not the former things, nor consider things of old.
I shall walk along the pier as the water grows cold.
But Again I hug the shore and allow others to brave the deep.
(Og missikken er over)
And I look back
at many summers many false love
Nothing else causes such pain.
And perhaps a few were true.
But that, I refuse to accept.

But most importantly I remember
the sisters of grace.
Who tended to me so kindly
So I walked with caution. For I had the map.
But I fell, I fell.
I said:
“I shall make this damp cave my home.”
And asked:
“But which one?
Who is it that I love?
I feel so strongly for both though I cannot choose
I must climb from my hole”
But I couldn't move, I wouldn't dare
(Its worth a try, just look at her hair.)
I'll have to decide
or else just let my feelings die
So Again, I chose to wait, I waited too long
And just as they came the sisters were gone.
Leaving me behind. I don't claim them wrong.
(Og missikken stopper)
My back now hurts, my knees crack.
And was it worth it, to plant a garden alone.
Is it worth it when the bald spot on my head has grown,
and what I called joy was merely a clone
and you find that you never had a home
and love did come but you let it go?
Was it worth it in the end
to build a god of desire?
(When did my bed grow so uncomfortable?)
A god out of reach.

But at last they sing and usher in dawn,
Till our eyes finally open, and we're gone.

What do I see staring back at me?

A Scatter of dots
that run on top of my nose
then they're splattered across these high cheek bones

A crows foot must have landed on both corners of my eyes

aging of a chin  
which slowly drags in

Discoloration of the face suddenly looks out of place

Once flowed through the air
was of long auburn hair

now a touch of grey
shows it's glare

While flakes begin to flow
where smooth skin use to glow

Neck at one time, long and fine now it has taken on a gobble design

What do I see when I look in the mirror?

not the girl you once desired
but now a woman who is tired

You Know You’re Getting Older When…©

The scroll bar for an online application
takes forever to get to your year of birth

The creaks you hear are your bones
not the floor boards

Younger people take the time to hold the door
open even without asking

Taking an escalator or elevator instead of stairs
is the only option

Switching the phone from ear to ear
doesn’t make hearing any easier

Can openers and jars become the enemy

You swear your arms are getting shorter
making tying your shoe laces a challenge

“Say again” are the most commonly used
words in your vocabulary

You save money on haircuts and shampoo
as there is less to work with

Grey becomes your new favorite color

Slow now feels fast

Cat naps are mandatory

The right lane on a highway becomes your domain

You need eye glasses to find your eye glasses

The remote is an extension of your hand

“Skip to the lou my darling” are
more than words to a song

And that’s just the short list

Don’t laugh, someday you’ll be there

Andreas Simic©