At That Stage
Ricocheting
from one doctor
to
the next, revealing or concealing
ailments
to or from those who care
to
know and those who don’t. No more
simply
an aging machine but one
reaching
the end of its warranty
if
it ever had one. Did someone
say
arthritis or bronchitis? Glaucoma
or
melanoma? Dyslexia or dementia?
Or
all the above? Throw in, for good
measure
– loss of taste, balance,
sleep,
the whole germ-infested
kitchen
sink. Careful you don’t
heave
up the mess. That’s one more
symptom
you don’t need.
Stale
complaints of expired
or
expiring generations are still
fresh
in your ears as you hear
yourself
involuntarily repeating
them. You take your place
in
the line of the no more young
before
advancing to the line
of
the no more. Aches, chronic
and
acute, tests, procedures,
911,
emergencies, ICUs, and
countless
pills, pills, pills.
You’re
getting there, you say,
fooling
yourself, when you know
very
well you are there already,
can’t
stave it off. And what next?
An
imperceptible trembling
in
the leg, a fall down the stairs,
a
sensitivity to light? Forgetfulness
at
twilight? The slightest reaction
gone
awry, a cause for alarm.
You’re
at that stage, can’t
loosen
the baton from your grip
except
to pass it back to the one
behind
you before you disappear.
Philip
Wexler
Philip
Wexler has over 200 magazine poem credits. His full-length
poetry collections include The Sad Parade (prose poems),
and The Burning Moustache, both published by Adelaide Books, The
Lesser Light (Finishing Line Press), With Something Like Hope (Silver
Bow Publishing) and I Would be the Purple (Kelsay
Books). He also hosts Words out Loud, a hybrid in-person
and remote monthly spoken word series in the Washington, DC area.