It’s Wednesday, September 6th and a birthday,
Again, these things arrive tediously on time
With wry regularity – and sadly, no sense
Of providence or charity.
Instead of counting a year less I am
Said to be blessed with sixty one
While actually I’m the age where I want
To regress about six, hover around
Say, fifty five, start a new career.
But I doubt the World will cheer
At the thought of that or be as magnanimous
When I invent an age-reducing elixir /regime,
Start a seditious scheme depriving younger generations
Of their sexagenarians, septuagenarians,
Octogenarians and nonagenarians – and any
Centagenarians still kicking ass.
It would be considered a crass abuse of
Aged-privilege (which I have yet
To discover the whereabouts of)
And a waste of rare resource opportunity,
Meaning I couldn’t be exploited as easily.
Alright, I’m just having some fun,
I used to think sixty one was old
Way back when I was fifty five,
Before the arthritis set in.