Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Today was not just my usual day of old.
There was no juicy Rib Eye steak, washed down with a cheap Merlot,
No baby potatoes with fresh parsley dripping from my fork,
In a waterfall of hot butter, while anticipating ice cream for dessert.
There was no second glass of wine,
Sipped with the shared laughter of friends.
No after dinner mints, cookies, or any damn sugar!
Again no third glass of wine, did I mention no laughter?
I wish I could give up this back pain,
That screams in its own loud voice;
Stopping my breath with each crippling spasm.
I can smell the floor when my nose is buried in carpet.
Age is like what I hear about heroin:
When you first taste the thrill, it is freedom.
The more you get however, the more it kills.
Both the sense of nirvana… and you.
Tonight I caught myself in the wardrobe's reflection,
Looking older, with time following close behind.
I didn’t celebrate much today, nor am I going to any party.
Behind the clock, a picture...of where I am living... one hundred years ago.