Our parents.
They are what we wish not to be
but will become.
Some too soon gave up the ghost
while others gaze now squarely
into the face of death.

They are a full-length mirror
from which we avert our eyes
as though by not seeing we'll control what is
and what will be.

In a bid to smooth the wrinkles
before they even form,
we slather on the ointment of denial
and smugly turn our heads in scorn.

I’m gliding, not fighting
As I enter later years.
I’m skating, not debating
As I face my aging fears.
I see what I was afraid of
Were just phantasms only.
They leave too many scared
With talk of being lonely.

Go away with bearboo talk.
Nobody is frighted here.
It’s just another day for me
It’s nothing but another year!
Age is not the bogeyman
It comes along with the ride.
It’s part of what made my life
It’s proof that I have tried.

**** and chest swapped places
My hair is wandering south.
All that goes very swiftly
Is my energy and my mouth.
Everything is changing now
I am not a kid any more.
I spend time in pharmacy aisles
More than the rest of the store.

But none of this unexpected.
I watched others go through it.
It’s not like it was ever a secret.
No mystery. I totally knew it.
So I plan to celebrate this stage
Which means I must slow down
And take things as they come
No reason to whine, cry or frown.

Love me not for what you see, my dear,
or for that which you can touch & hold.
For I'm not immune to the wrath of time,
one day I too will be old...  
My mahogany locks will turn to gray
and my youthful glow will have faded.
My vibrant smile, like a flower, will wilt,
and once sparkling eyes will seem jaded.
My skin may look like an ill-fitting suit,
and gravity will cease to be a friend.
Wrinkles will devour my pretty face,
good looks just a memory, in the end....
So love me not for what you see, my dear
let what is unseen be why.
Love beyond what you can touch & hold,
for one day my beauty will die.

Where there was something,
Now there is nothing:
A glade in the forest
Is all that remains.
The woodland of youth
Became wasteland;
No serum or tonic
Could Regaine* its flourish.
Sometimes, I run my fingers
Through the ghost
Of what was there.
I am, of course, speaking
Of my phantom hair.

One day, I looked in the mirror
and saw my parent staring back

Was it the gray hair?
A face more lined and wrinkled?

Or, was it the sadness in my eyes?
The anger in my furrowed brow?

I stared harder.
Had I grown into the hero? The villain?

I blinked and my parent was gone

What is it really like to be old?
Read along, and you'll be told,
Well, there's spectacles and hearing aids,
Also along the way, by the way,
There's dentures in glasses,
Zimmers on greys who want to make passes,
Then there's incontinence aids, bad hips,
Appointments at medical specialists,
Then you're off to the pharmacists,
To get all your scripts,
Then there's the alphabet song,
Read along, read along,
A is for Arthritis,
B is for Bursitis,
C is for Constipation,
Always a grey consternation,
D is for Diarrhoea,
And no doctor wants to know ya!
Finally, Z is for the big sleep at the end,
No wonder geriatrics go round the bend,
Yes, greys, these are our golden years,
Have fun learning, no need for tears!