On The Subject Of Ageing.

On the subject of ageing,

I fear it’s not for me,

I just like wallowing in memories far too much

to have them snatched or slowly corroded, decayed

or fading into the golden sun-sleight of

half forgotten anecdotes and blistered self-denial

to not remember you, your brushed long hair, and trembling

smooth skin as you leant in for a second kiss,

to ever allow old-age the promise

of victory in wondering

who the women is when I look at a

sepia toned photograph, torn through the middle

up to half way, as if she had been ripped

from my life cruelly.

 

On the subject of ageing,

I don’t want to be the menace in over-powered scooter

crashing into shop windows

because I have no idea how to stop the wheel spin

or confusing the brakes with the accelerator

and having an opportunist thief thank me

when the diamond rings fall into his pocket,

his hand bouncing of my shoulder with jovial smile

and the faint whisper of “Ta pal” ringing

in my ears

and the police asking me questions

about how much was I speeding,

memories of my first bike catching fire

down Sunderland Avenue as I nearly hit the truck head on.

 

On the subject of ageing,

I don’t want to get to the age where

just sitting still becomes a bind

and a bother just because I can’t do anything else

but drool uncomfortably when I believe

I used to know who played

for Manchester City as Goalkeeper from nineteen-

forty five

to the present day and yet my mind gropes

like a wet orange ball through the

fingers of Andy Dibble

as I forget each one and the tears of lost games

that I saw suddenly hold

no meaning.

 

On the subject of ageing,

I don’t want to grow old without you

by my side, for where

is the peace of mind

in having a conversation with the empty space

that used to lay on the sofa,

that used to laugh with a wild snigger

when I made the most feeble of jokes,

nor when the discussion of when met how

greeted who and said what to where;

I don’t want

to be old, even though I feel it in Middle Age,

I don’t want to understand

that life is dull without you.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015