Aging Is No Stroll Through the Park (But It’s Good to Be Alive)

by Ernie McCray

Made it.
85 earthly rides
around the sun.
And most of it
has been a ton
of fun
but this aging
has been no
stroll through the park, Jack,
or anything close to that,
as parts of me, like my back,
up and quit on me a while back,
and I can full-out understand that
with all I’ve asked of my back,
all that balling on fields
and courts
and whatnot
and running on tracks
and stuff like that,
now paying for it,
using a cane
to stand up straight
when I get around,
hearing myself,
like my grandfather used to do,
making grunting sounds
every time I rise
or sit down,
feeling at ease
only when I’m seated
or lying down,
in possession of meds
which combined
must weigh hundreds of pounds,
pills with names like hydrochlorothiazide
and metoprolol,
and prescriptions to manage my glaucoma
and cholesterol,
dealing with occasional tendinitis,
and recent hints of bursitis
arthritis,
and gastritis,
buying ointments
for dermatitis
and dryness,
unable to give a proper bow
if I were to meet somebody
with a title like
“Her Highness.”

But, hey,
I can say,
without a single
trace of shyness,
it’s good
to still be alive,
to have made it
to 85.

Still able,
in spite of the drawbacks,
to boogie down
and jive
with a little salsa
on the side.

In an old man’s style.