AGING

You're 75 and the music is playing.
Your body is slower but remembers the rhythm.
It lights up the dance floor
on which your life was woven.

You're 79. On the threshold
between yesterday and tomorrow
but tomorrow seems far away
and you'd rather not think of it.
Dark clouds loom overhead.

Now you're 80. It came on unexpectedly
like lightning and thunder
and a slap on the face.
80. My God 80. The number is heavy,
a burden of the mind
heavier to carry than the shoes you danced with.

You climb over 81,
and 82 tightens the ring
of friends you have left,
moved away or passed on.
Your tires are flat and your battery is low
but the sun still shines
on your life, on your children,
on your grandchildren .

You crawl on the dirt floor of 83,
over dreams and memories of long ago
like stars long extinct
yet shining bright in the dark blue sky.

You're 84. You light a match and you're 86.
You're tapping your feet
to the music of the 40s.
As time goes by . . . and you're gone.