EIGHTY-FIVE AND STILL CHIRPING

Though uninvited

and hardly welcome, 

my eighty-fifth birthday 

arrived today and settled in.    

Holy Mackerel, eighty-five.  

How did that happen?

According to gerontologists, I now belong  

to the “oldest old” category.

That’s annoying actually.  

It’s true that I am definitely older 

than I ever was before,

but I’ve quite a ways to go 

before I reach my “oldest”.  

These first eighty-five years have 

been full of surprises and pleasantries. 

Parents and siblings, school, marriage,

fatherhood, home, career, dogs, and 

now my leisurely retirement years 

filled with poetry writing

and contemplation.  

In some ways these years are the best. 

I have occasional regrets, of course, 

but that’s a built-in part of life.  

A while ago my doctor 

said I don’t look my age

and I don’t act my age

but I should keep in mind

that I am my age.    

At first that struck me as profound

but now I’m having second thoughts. 

Eighty-five is not a fixed thing 

like an iPad or a fire hydrant.     

There are as many different ways

of being eighty-five as there are 

grasshoppers in the meadow 

or tadpoles in the brook.  

My year ahead promises

to be comfortable and rewarding. 

We expected to celebrate my birthday 

by going to the Warren County Fair

but the heat advisory crimped our style

and we’ll do a seafood restaurant instead.  

All in all, I think I will  

embrace eight-five and  

try to outwit the prognosticators. 

That’s my birthday strategy,  

at least for the time being.