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Hello Old Man

One of me has died.
Well, good riddance.
He was far to difficult to maintain,
self-assured in his fine features
with black wavy hair, a showroom face
translucent blue springs
flowing through passionate eyes
that dared anyone to stand too close.
A torso, not of rippling muscles
but of natural tone
with dark exotic skin
and a flexible tongue
that could charm the cynic
and convince the beautiful
that she was the first and last beauty.
A compassionate wit as well
that could dry tears with a spontaneous pun.

Well, he is long gone, this handsome lad
so fit for continuation of our species.
Then why do I not miss him?
Why do I not long to see those traits resurrected
that served his youth so well?
Because he kept the real me from taking charge
in his passionate pursuit of the carnal.
He was only able to stall human progress
of universal understanding, not encourage it.
He spent far too much time and energy
in pursuit of physical pleasures and romance
than growing beyond human biology...
Beyond stepping out of basic character
to reflect on the how and why
of things that escape shallow reasoning.

Now, closing in on 60,
I am forced to bury that bull-brained kid
and welcome the new me,
facing maintenance long over-due.
Without looking into a mirror,
I can feel my worn-out tarsals
telling me to walk not run.
I react to an aching back that demands
I bend slowly, cautiously.
I favor a hip that doesn't seem hip
and give in to a bladder that forces me to carry a cup
in case I fill-up before finding a filling station.
My ears don't look any different
yet they are forever clogged with wax.
Hair erupts my from lobes and brow
and fades from my scalp,
leaving behind a shiny flesh-colored dome
that I am told is sexy -- to soften the blow I suppose.

At least my memory remains sharp!
Or perhaps it is so poor,
I have forgotten it's bad.

When I was young, I saw age as ugly and weak.
I saw in old people a lack of energy and fresh ideas.
I secretly wished the elderly
would get the hell out of the way
and let the rest of us drive...impatiently.
Now I see age as truly handsome and strong
for we have a warehouse of trial and error
to share with those less-fortunate muscle-heads
who are too full of testosterone
to think beyond the now.

Not surprisingly, I hear something in their eyes
and see something in their voices
that sounds and looks an awful lot like...
Get the hell out of the way old man!
It's our turn to propagate the species
and slow progress in understanding depth.
It's our turn to be cocky and arrogant,
to have all of life's answers
without the benefit of living curiously,
to accept without demanding good science
and long trials.

We could be friends, you know.
But that would be too easy.
It's better that we spar in the shadows
where it's difficult to tell
who is in charge
who is free
who is happy
who is truly living
and who is dying.
Farewell lad, farewell.
Hello you handsome old man!