The Blame

The Blame

My mind is boggled. This happens without warning on occasion.

Perhaps the uninvited thought arose today, for in less than two

Weeks I’ll be faced disparagingly with my 70^th birthday.

What in hell happened, I ask myself? It all seems so sudden,

This unsettling situation. In drag strip terms of acceleration, this

Is comparable to achieving zero to sixty in 4-seconds.

Why, it was only yesterday when I was nineteen and in the Army

Stationed in Germany. The young women in the town where I

Lived had given me the nickname, Baby Face.

I considered it a term of endearment not a moniker based on

Ridicule or shame. Baby Face. A horrified glance into the mirror

Today and I must say that my face, indeed the head-to-toe

Physiological composition of me, has wrinkled and digressed

Considerably. There has to be a simple explanation for this

Insidious transformation. I figure that it must have been something

I had eaten along the way. Or worse case scenario, something for

Which I never acquired a taste, something of exceptional nutritional

Benefit I left sitting on my plate. Beets! That’s it, I knew it! This is all

Your damn fault. Now I have more reasons than ever for hating you.

The thought of your unsavory attitude makes me want to puke. So then,

It’s a matter of taste which in such a short time laced me with this age.

Chris Hanch 3-21-17