Archives for old age

A Good Day to Die.

A Good Day to Die


When I was young I always feared getting

old and hoped I’d never live long enough

to dimly see my muscles wither and weaken,


my eyesight and hearing diminish, and the

curls go out of my hair if it hadn’t all been

banished from my head by then.


To eat without any teeth and drink prune juice

wasn’t meant for me. I’d die long before so

much time passed that I’d become an invalid.


To walk with a cane, a walker, crutches, or a

wheelchair were all unacceptable to me. Let me

die I’d pray before I ever needed help like that.


Old people all had a certain smell that death

knew so well,  and certified their age, I believed,

until I learned they didn’t bathe,


because by sitting all day they lost what it takes

to get in and out of a tub and they lost the ability

to notice they were drenched in a strong stench,


because a nursing home, where so many end up,

reeks of aromas worse than those unwashed seniors

who roam the halls looking for their children,


who promised to never put them in a home, and when they

broke that promise, said they’d come to visit every day, but

have better things to do than to see what’s in store for them.


It’s a shame, but that’s why I’m never getting OLD. I’m

going to live until I die and do every risky thing I

avoided when young because I had a lot to lose.


In my 70s now, I choose to take chances because death can’t cheat

me out of very many years, and if I die jumping from a plane,

crashing a car, or  a heart attack from running too fast,


it’ll be a good day to die.

The police were called to chase old people from McDonald’s for loitering.

To Damn Old


My friends from all over town have

gone away. It’s just that way, no one stays

when time flows by and suddenly you’re to

damn old and are an ugly sight to behold.


It’s a shame to survive so long that we

become a drain, and no one remembers

our name or so they say. Our unwanted faces

take up space in McDonald’s and other places.


To live past thirty and then forty without death

beating on your door was extraordinary in olden days.

If a person made it til their hair turned gray, they were

asked to stay and never called, “Cotton Top.”


Age meant data and their thoughts were sought by

the young before it became so easily found in the

electronic age without turning a page. Today it’s not

unknown for a child of one or two to have a phone of their own.


Did we fuck with nature’s plan by extending

our life span? Is that why cotton tops are avoided

by those whose hair is yet to turn gray? Is that

why the old are kept out of site and put in homes?


Should they even exist, or be put on a list when they no longer

contribute? Do they take up space and depress those of us who

retain our youth and don’t want to see any decrepit people sitting

in a booth while we stand to eat our lunch.


Take away amenities given to those past retirement age so

they’ll die and get out of the way. Isn’t that better than letting

them suffer for so many years? Let’s go along with natures’

plan and rid the land of those who can no longer work.


Then when we go to McDonald’s, the booths will be empty

and we’ll have a place and some space to sit while we eat

without having to see what’s in store for all of us.