They Are Me


They are me – this I know.
The white and grey heads
bobbing over meals,
tremor of hands,
wheelchairs and walkers,
dentures and damage,
irreconcilable too much
of the time.

Broken hips, broken minds.
I know people who were
trailblazers, powerhouses,
corporate heads, adventurers,
housewives and plumbers
who no longer recognize
that old person in the mirror . . .
who walk and walk and walk
for want of something to do
but still remember love and smiles.

Lost minds –
I’ve already lost some
words and abilities,
and perhaps, if I live,
my head will be bobbing,
my hands will shake more than now,
my body will continue to degenerate.

God, please let me die first.
My father lost his songs
one word at a time
I already know
too many of those tunes.

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