I.
My love and I
Had a silly tiff
And I shut myself, crabby, in my office.
Muttering and swigging straight
From the 2-liter of flat Vernors.
We have a nice collection of bottles
Jameson, Bacardi, even Cachaca
But somehow,
This was my beverage of choice.
Crabby huffs just ain’t what they used to be.
II.
“Lady, you better have your eyes examined,”
I tell myself.
My last exam was so long ago,
I don’t even remember
The right answers anymore
Not bad, you see.
I see
Rather well.
But.
When you’re of a certain age,
Sometimes the edges are fuzzy.
The lenses are sleepy.
You flirt with cheap, colorful
“Cheaters” —
If only for fashion
(Or so your young mind tells itself).
The day may soon come when you seem
No longer proud, but foolish
For being a longtime holdout.
So, I call.
An appointed time.
We shall see, we shall see.
III.
“Of a certain age.”
What does that even mean, anymore?”
Not young, not old.
Not shy about your years,
But not singing them out either.
You see a few more grays
A little skin that could use some TLC.
Or, feel more like watching a show
Than watching the crowds
On a weekend night.
And it is mighty damned sweet.
the joy of zen 