At Fifty-Three

(to Janis Ian's "At Seventeen")

I now arrive at fifty-three
An age I thought I’d never see
A life it whirls in light speed style
You blink and find the years have wiled

The beard I have has roots of gray

Like weeds in lawn, find more each day
Some dye perhaps might fix the look
But cash is best spent buying books

And those exams at doctor’s places
Prodding in unholy places
Bills to pay, maintain the home
Annoying robots ring the phone
They call to say come buy from me
They sell such swell amenities
Not really what I need
At fifty-three

My brown eyed wife, she loves me now
Though why she does, it still confounds
I’m not an easy man to know
My moody self, the highs and lows

And the loud and rocking concert scene
Replaced it with a calmer thing
The avant-garde I love it still
Preferred at lower decibels

Now were there times when I was sane
Just a Joe with scraggly mane?
I don’t recall the sanity
I have retained humanity
My mom and dad they taught me true
Now odd surprise I’ve made it to
Bifocalled days of me
At fifty-three

The creaks and pops, the random pain
But all-in-all I can’t complain
Adult I am, mature not quite
My mind will wander off at night

I will oft reflect and drift away
Synapses fire and cells will play
I know far less than I believe
The world is larger than it seems

I now write some words in favorite chair
I’ll gripe and grin, let down my hair
Inventing stories, phrases flow
Revealing worries, worlds unknown
Some tales are bad, some tales are neat
I call them my amenities
The changing world I see
At fifty-three