Old men
At the coffee shop
Reminisce
Reading today's paper
Talking about yesterdays
Years ago
My father always said
He felt 20
Even when he was 40
But he's almost 60 now
And it's been a while
Since he's said that
In the morning
It seems like
It’ll never end
At night
I'm afraid
To die
The long days
Are an illusion
As the short years
Add up
And I'm a summer month
Suspended in between
Young enough
To remember January
Old enough
To fear December
Staring at the sun
In mid-July
I still can't believe
This will ever end
That it has to end
That that's
Just
The way things are
We're born to die
And all I can do
Is type faster
Trying
To get it all down
While I still can
To write an epic
In an afternoon
To live an eternity
In a lifetime
To at least
Have something to talk about
When I'm in a wheelchair
Holding a cup of coffee
Hand shaking
Pinching croissant crumbs
With wrinkly fingers
Watching the snow fall