A line is a series of connected dots
stretching out to the left and right.
I am a dot.
I am a guy, an older guy than before.
To my right on the line is another guy,
a father but who acts like a kid, sometimes.
He is still making himself.
He is 31.
The dot nearest me on my left is another guy,
64,
bald also, but a little bit more,
accepting of not being 63, anymore.
Just right of me is a guy, 62,
worried about not being 31 anymore,
but less now than before, thank God!
Way out on my left is a guy, 94,
facing the growing darkness to his left,
wondering, hoping, praying, being brave.
We’re all just guys on the line,
trying to cross our T’s,
dot our i’s,
preparing to close our eyes
for the period
at the end of our sentence.