Smoke the Past - A2

I smoke the past
Like it’s grass
My future has grown cold, old
My past—wow
What a treasured blast

I’m managed livestock
Like chickens in a roost
A pig in a pen
No more pennies for my thoughts

Tuesday: Bingo
Wednesday: Transfusion
Thursday: Physical therapy
Friday: Mystery Meat

Our teeth are optional
Our appetites are not
We chew like glaciers
At the table of decay

We shuffle to dinner
Like zombies in an end-of-life parade
Sports betting is now guessing
Which one kicks the can next

We navigate the hallway corridors
Like we’re casting for the living dead
With nowhere left to scurry
Eat our food, live
At the glacier speed of eternity

Depends are no longer a choice
They’re the catch-all for soiled waste
Aid and assistance
Is no longer on aisle nine
It’s a call for a daily wipe

The toilet becomes a throne
Until you can’t get off
Then somebody - me - calls 911
To retrieve the king

I’m hoisted from my porcelain kingdom
Like a prisoner being airlifted away
I close my eyes and imagine
A bright, sandy island
Somewhere they don’t know my name

My life is now a horror show
“Let’s get you cleaned up”
Is just a preview
Supersized with Depends

My friend is a walker
Outfitted with bright yellow tennis balls
I’m the belle of the ball
I’ve gone from high-heeled shoes
To Velcro

On great days
I’m whisked from my kingdom
To the great dining hall
In a Ferrari wheelchair

I shower in a shower chair
Air-dry more than towel-dry
Standing is now an extreme sport
And balance has become
A matter of opinion

My independence is withering
I’m becoming a liability
To everyone around me
Especially to myself

I drool
I stoop
I drape

My dentures float in a cup nightly
While my face slowly implodes
And I become Granny May
A stranger wearing a face
I no longer know

Happy hour is now medication time
The pill cup is my cocktail glass
I raise my little plastic chalice
And toast to whatever comes next

I once griped about things
Small and smaller
Now I only have the energy
For getting older

I won’t sugarcoat
This getting-old thing
It’s a bleak destination
A dark corridor
A cold, cold ending

The final wipe of time

I spend most days and nights
Passing around Swiss-cheese memories
From one meandering moment
To the next

I once chased new memories
Like an addict searching for a fix
Now I steal from the past
To while away
The slow tick of life

I smoke the past
Like it’s grass
Pull another memory
Disappear into the past

Carpe diem
Once, I lived