I get it!

It takes years to grow old

but only a moment to know it.

One night,

you go to bed with your wife

and the whole rest of your life

as usual,

stretches out before you,

day after day after year….

but come morning

your mind remembers

it got the memo in a midnight dream….

“Hay!”

you hear it say

to your body,

“Hay, Buddy!

You’re old!”

Yep!

Your day to boldly go where you haven’t been…

Well, that day is done.

And it won’t ever again surprise you

when some kind young gentleman,

a kid, really,

maybe 45, 50

holds the Harris Teeter door

open for you

and says, “You’re welcome, Sir’

when you say “Thanks, Son”.

Or when some young Mother,

maybe 20 years younger

than your youngest daughter

offers

to get those cans of Chef Boyarde Ravioli

on the bottom shelf

that you’ve been struggling to stretch for

(since you can’t bend down so good lately)

and you pause

for an awkward moment

searching for some just cause

to say, “No thank-you, Dear!

I’ve got it!”

But you can’t find a ” because”

quick enough

so she bends down like a bamboo fishing pole

and comes up with two cans,

hands them to you with a smile

and caravans on down the aisle,

dragging her two toddlers

and shoving her loaded shopping cart

and you stand there mumbling,

“Thank you…”

and you know you’ve just begun

to feel the breaking

of your obsolescent heart.