On Sunday in two days
I will have lived through
my first week since turning
seventy-four, a milestone
for me as was living my
days at seventy-three.
Of course there were all
those days and years
before which each in
it’s own rite was a new
personal record for me.
Each passing day and
year brought new reve-
lations and experiences,
although mostly the
muddled mass of time
and place cannot be
pinpointed specifically.
I cannot say on which
particular day I noticed
my first gray hair or
when or where I was
when the wrinkles over-
took my fair-skinned
youthful look. My
testosterone wasn’t
kind enough to leave
me a note when it
abandoned me.
Close as I can pinpoint
a physical decline would
be when my downhill slide
became noticeable to me
sometime after age sixty.
I have carried my bag
of ailments from each
year thereafter with
interest compounded
annually into my
seventy-fourth year.
And I’d be a damned
fool to expect things
to remain the same
or get any better
from here.
As far as my mental
state of affairs goes,
well I must say, it
never was in top-notch
shape in the first place.
However, here is a
shining light of hope
for me, until my dying
days, my erratic and
teeter-totter mental
state is likely one fewer
thing I have to worry
and bitch about.
-30-
Chris Hanch 4-9-2021
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