There Comes a Time

Years ago, it was my mother at age fifty-nine.

Some said she was far too young; others said

it was her time. Then years later, it was my dad

at age eighty-nine. He lived a good long time,

more than most. Still later, my second wife at

seventy-four, somewhere in the middle. She

had a hard life, but may have survived more.

Last month, it was my younger brother, five

months shy of seventy-one. With all his ailments

over the years, each day bought him time which

never was on his side. In April I’ll turn seventy-

two, and who can say? In the waiting room I

sit today. The receptionist calls out a number

and summons, next. I check my ticket and

turn to the person beside me. It’s okay, I tell

them, you go ahead—age before beauty.

Everyone hates a smart ass. I do believe I deserve

some credit. You can’t say I didn’t try.

Chris Hanch