Like a Man Gone Mad: Poems in a New Century

Bold Old Scold

54 Bold Old Scold It’s not that aging is predictable. It’s not. It more or less just happens—recently more rather than less. For instance, you remember faces better than names, which let themselves be known too late or not at all. Your ears have quietly embraced free will. They hear the things they choose to hear. Your knees are on sabbatical forever. To run, make love or sleep uninterruptedly are nothing now but problems to be solved, which proves that living on amounts to making do. Accidents, disease or similar absurdities may intervene, but where’s the benefit in that? They leave you cornered like a man gone mad who stares at those still cursed with sanity and laughs and laughs to prove the joke’s on them. And it is. ...