FREEZING JUST OUTSIDE THE DOOR

FREEZING JUST OUTSIDE THE DOOR

Old age withers and stiffens my body,
At the ripe young age of 44.
Shuffling like an old codger,
Freezing just outside the door.

A poor Tim Conway’s old man’s shuffle,
A doddering fool in training,
I look outside in pained surprise
To find it always raining.

Creeping down imposing hallways,
Muscles tight and non-responsive,
Waiting for synthetic drugs to fuel my aching limbs.
Searching for my best laid plans,
Wondering what’s become of them.

Surely not the life I wanted, nor the path I bargained for,
Not the pot of shining gold I hoped to find laid at my door.
Not a precious sunlit day, but a rainbow charred and black.
I stare into the sunset and find demons staring back.

Trembling, shaking violently,
Like a house upon the fault line.
Parkinson’s a crafty mouse,
Gnawing on what once was mine.

Too quickly do they melt away,
The years I’d longed to treasure.
Like a miser counting up the coins
He had set aside for pleasure.

Movement now a luxury, walking quite a spectacle,
Driving a sheer act of will, sleeping a near miracle.
Old age claims me, crippling my thinking
At the tender age of 44.
Shuffling like a man possessed,
Freezing just outside the door.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED