Wednesday, November 21, 2007


As I advance in age I realize I've reached a stage that I've become enraged with me and confess I am no longer as free as I used to be. I can't swim and I can't dance and, as for romance, I'm limited to coos and kisses. And ever since I lost my missus I've learned what a lonely life this is.

Among the things I've given up, I can no longer drive. I've had a few accidents, mostly scratches, bumps and dents. I've had close calls, rammed into walls and trees, suffered a blackout that scared the hell out of me. I sat in my car, stunned. knew my driving years were done.

As I reached eighty-three I saw folks older than me still behind the wheel. It made me feel sad. But I realized if I crash into another guy he and I might die, so this is why I no longer drive. I want to keep us both alive.

Giving up that ignition key tore the heart out of me. What if I have to go somewhere and there's no one to take me there? if I find a volunteer up in years who can hardly see and drives absentmindedly, and hasn't come to grips with the fact that even short trips can end in a fatality, where we might die and kill a young and growing family.

Since I've turned eighty-four I've given up more and fear my body soon will give up on me to every "itis' in the books and I'll be doing my wooing with that youthful widow who's eighty-three.

My body aches, I get the shakes, but as long as I can write I'll be alright. And if my body doesn't leave me behind I'll find more to do than stare at walls and BATCH MY SCRALLS.


Post a Comment

<< Home