Old Man.

I try to live each day as well as I can. But, some nights seem to last forever, and the aches and pains of old age can be really difficult. My Stoic philosophy tells me to ignore it, and find joy, and choose to live well. But, old age isn't for weaklings, is it? I love Clint Eastwood, who is going strong in his Nineties, and who famously said: "I just don't let the old man in". When I am feeling down about my age, I try to remember the subject of this poem. He is one of many who give up. Don't be this guy.
He slowly pattered to the chair,
cloth rubbed raw and chafing,
slippers worn and in their place,
pipe and ashtray next to the lighter
his wife had given him on Memorial Day.
His body bent forward
and his gaze fell on the carpet,
threadbare from walking and pacing
during illness and crisis.
He was alone now,
Slowly dying
and living slowly.
He watched the flickering television
looking for meaning,
and not looking at all.
Did he remember the President
and the year?
Or did he remember a kiss in 1947...
or was it ‘48?
He felt a tightening in his chest
and knew his end was coming.
He closed his eyes
and remembered the past,
thought about the future,
and prayed to whatever God
was up there.
When he died,
They removed the body,
boxed his belongings,
threw them in the trash,
emptied his bank accounts,
and went on living

.