I confess I skim over that lottery
every day when I read the paper,
hoping not to recognize
anyone I know but
once in a while someone
I remember peers up at me.
I am shocked but should not be
as I am 80 now so I know
the final stretch I am on
is not very long
and that few get to 90
and even fewer to the century.
Sometimes I look at the final number.
If very young, I feel awful and lucky.
In their 70’s, I feel weird, whistle.
But I mostly look at the 80’s.
If the age is early like 82 I frown,
if 88, when Mom died, I feel
a slight release, an intake
of good breath and if I see
anyone in the 90’s I rejoice
and hope and pray I am one of them
who still drives a car at 99,
even dances at weddings and has breath
to blow out most of the candles.
How great to be in that rare company
so when we nonagenarians
have a Memorial hardly
anyone will be left to attend.
But that is a selfish wish,
my fellow octogenarians.
I suspect you have had it too.
Originally Published in Fleas On The Dog