SIXTY

SIXTY

Fifty was nifty

But Lord, how the time goes,

Not sure I'm down with sixty,

Don't have the proper clothes.

If I could freeze time.

Now that would be fine,

Erase a birthday, stay forever fifty-nine,

Somehow make time be still,

By the sheer power and force of my will.

I am sure 60 is the new rage,

Another blank slate, a quaint empty page

Upon which to write my story,

Meanwhile my beard comes in white,

And I'm looking mighty hoary.

Throw in Parkinson's and a fair share of falls,

And sixty seems quite the order tall.

Custom build a ship for me.

Into the horizon I must sail.

On wild billowy clouds

That rain down icy hail.

Lightning marks the skyline,

I think I'm going under.  

Amidst the ravages of time itself

And its malevolent thunder.

Fifty was nifty,

But Lord, how the time goes.

Sixty may pull me asunder.

But I'll keep strong and fit,

With my stiff upper lip,

For age is only a number.

-Bruce Potts

Copyright 2021

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

NOTE: I turn 60 in a week. Poem is merely tongue in cheek. I am not taking this life event at all in my stride like I normally do. But am happy to have made it this far!