By Glen Stephens

there is a strange sort of humor
about growing old
as if it were funny to forget
where you parked your car

believe me, pal
it’s not funny at all
when you have pains
all over the place

not always big pains
just pains that have found a home
in finger joints or your neck
or your hips

and have no intention
of leaving

there’s no wisdom
in that drivel about
gracefully surrendering
the joys of younger years

face it man, you have no choice
it’s real, like everything else
and worse things will happen
whether you like it or not

the one you love may go first and
you’ll be adrift in your little boat
with no land in sight
			
if a vessel bursts in her brain
a wheel chair
will be the meaning of your life 

as for regrets-
only fools say they have none
like pains they live in your brain
waiting to be called up 

when they’ll hurt the most

and yet
I don’t know about you pal
but as for me
I know and suppose I will always know

that somehow deep inside
I am really just eighteen