20150613 (adaptation)

No Manistas have ever made it to eighty

That’s why I so comfortably call myself old

When people around me are living longer

Than ever making spry totally inapropos

Running as if they wanted to injure their joints

I ouch as I watch each step God that must hurt

As I was gathering Loki for his morning trek

Two joggers a beautiful young woman I didn’t 

Even see her male escort smiled and said Hi 

Over the gate. Following a tall handsome black

Man I chided You’re not running this morning?

Mind says I could. Body refuses to do it. Same here

The old man in me shuts the teenager down 

She was beautiful smiling her hair in a tie back

A kind of ponytail flounce would probably have

Felt wondrously sleek in my hands as I pressed

My face into her kiss except those days are gone

Sweet torment of memory. Sometimes it’s

Better to do altogether without. The bones have long quit

When will the mind leave off? I left my last job

Because I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d lifted my last

Metal panel for cards. I joked they smelted down

WWII cruisers to make these abominable sheets

Steel folded over three times to make a slotted 

Surface on which nothing heavier than a party 

Bag would ever hang. They could chop off an

Ankle if your grasp slipped. It was time to go

I’d watched a guy ten years older sling these

Around or had I? It was time to go. No more

For me. I could tire myself putzing around my 

House getting things done that needed doing

Now naps come like the pressure of a tide

Upon the shore. I can no more resist than

Turn away from those beautiful faces I never

Will cradle again in my hands. Oh, resign yourself

You romantic old fart. Thank God for handing you

One of the greatest loves ever. Everyone is not 

That blessed. Sleep and rise and get things done

Whatever you can. While you can.

c. J.S.Manista, 2015