Is it possible?


Did I pass through my golden years and completely miss them?

those easy years rocking on the porch, reading the Great Novels,

grandchildren quietly playing Monopoly,

the smell of supper’s roast simmering in sage and rosemary.


Did I miss them? Really?

were my eyes closed as they flashed by? Did I blink?


Today’s days are filled with doctors, pills, hips and knees

that scream replacement, minds that forget to turn off the stove,

to pay the electric bill, to eat lunch,

a daughter with depression, a son who lost his job,


A grandchild flying high on sex and cocaine,

my children have taken my car keys.


I have forgotten the word for what I use to wash my hair.

I drink ensure and chew my toast slowly,

no thick stews with bottles of Pinot.

I go to bed alone, his side unwrinkled, his pillow undented.


Is my life purposeless, plotless, as I sag and skid into old age?

are the Golden Years simply a myth created when we were young

to make aging seem bearable? To keep us from putting

our heads in our gas ovens and breathing deeply the day we turn fifty?


Cedar waxwings flock my juniper tree, yellow tipped tails flashing.

my granddaughter Mia is coming for tea.

Pollini is playing Schubert’s B flat sonata,

C. K. Williams lies on my lap


Is it enough?

Is it?