Lucky Me

Lucky, I suppose. I could say grateful,

but to whom? Could have been born

wobbly-legged, but able to walk then

run on my very first day. Who can say

what may have been had I been born

a gazelle on the Serengeti instead of

a human being in St. Louis? Life for

me would have certainly been lived

differently. Would have spent my days

grazing the grassy plains, following the

herd in search of water. Oh, but could

I run and leap in prodigious bounds.

No rent and taxes to pay, no eight to

five every day. Free, free, free to run,

free to be the best I can be. One draw-

back, though, which I see. I never would

have made it in the wild to age seventy

three. Getting older and slower, pulling

up lame one day, and a pride of lions

would have made a meal out of me.

Given my advanced age as a human being,

even though hobbling about and having

seen better days, I’m damned lucky, I sup-

pose. At least I have my mattress, my pillow,

a cozy blanket and my sweet dreams at night.

And too, of course, there is the waking to that

intense aroma and stiff jolt of hot coffee in the

morning. A gazelle? Oh, hell no! Being human

and growing old is tough enough.

                              -30-

Chris Hanch 1-21-2020