INTIMATIONS OF MORTALITY
I’ve counted my years —
not quite a neat tally,
more like coins in an old drawer,
some shiny, some sticky with time.
There are the grand “If only I had…”s,
those faithful companions,
forever wagging their fingers,
like unpaid bills in the mind’s postbox.
There are the “Thank heavens I did!”s —
smaller in number,
but they smile more often,
and cost less in maintenance.
Friends have left the stage early,
some with grace,
some with a muttered
“That’s enough of this nonsense!”
My body, once a spry clerk,
is now a slow-moving civil servant,
reluctant to stamp
any request for speed.
Still —
the morning sun hasn’t resigned,
tea still tastes like a warm handshake,
and once in a while,
a stranger’s kindness
feels like an unwrapped gift.
If this is the preface to my exit,
let it be read with a smile:
I came, I stumbled,
I danced a little —
and the music was worth it.
