I’ve got to write a poem
about white hair and
wrinkles wearing glasses
pushing walkers
pulling saggy backs
coming upon one of them
is like approaching an old
sunset I need to touch
and say something juicy
if not flattering
about their most
well-maintained part
anything to get the rise
of a smile or sassy retort
and spank of my arm with
a bent-fingered backhand
why?
I don’t know
perhaps just to
shine a little light
into their age of darkening