© 2025
Older
By FlatDaddy
Days lumber into nibs
nights creak forever
Good times erase themselves with lost memories
bad ones multiply in puddles
Pain shakes hands with madness
while elbows wobble
Rain falls in my closet
where holes nap on rusted hangers
Reflection, afraid to show its face
lies flatly on the table
Feeling numbs, sight dims,
hearing speaks with irreverent silence
‘til taste dulls words once known to shine
and, at last, memory …
I recently wrote a piece about aging too. I visit my mother in her apartment building every weekend and I see others there, just hanging out in the lobby alone. She says they never get guests and that many of her neighbors are jealous of her consistent visitors. It made me sad to think about all the stories sitting in silence. I’ll post it in honor of this poem and its message
Thank you, my treasured friend. I will certainly be honored to see and read it.
Well, we’ve gotten here, you and I, and now our elbows wobble. (and all that other stuff) But doesn’t it beat the alternative? Maybe a little Neil Young is called for:
Old man lying by the side of the road
With the lorries rolling by
Blue moon sinking from the weight of the load
And the buildings scrape the sky
Cold wind ripping down the alley at dawn
And the morning paper flies
Dead man lying by the side of the road
With the daylight in his eyes
Don’t let it bring you down
It’s only castles burning
Find someone who’s turning
And you will come around
I’m not sure if you got my response to your Neil Young tribute for me, Sam. Sometimes I forget that when replying to a comment, one should click the Reply button directly below the comment to which one is replying. Usually, I notice immediately, then I copy it, paste it using the correct Reply button, then delete my original. But I have the sneaky feeling that I’ve screwed it up other times and come off looking like a shit.
But I left out of my below comment something I meant to say to you: “Old Man, look at my life, I’m a lot like you only a lot better looking.” Man, that guy sure knows how to write, huh, Sam?
Well, Neil Young isn’t my favorite (it”s the voice), but he’s a hell of a writer, so I’ll take this with a big thank you, my friend. And a big Ho, Ho, Ho, too!
This one walks like a wounded animal—slow, deliberate, and not asking for pity.
That rain in the closet and reflection lying flat? That’s grief stripped of metaphor and still standing there, breathing.
Damn, Thomas, you nailed it! Uh huh. You always say the nicest things, my friend — and I sure do like the way you talk. Thank you!