AGE

ain't nothing left
but paint the shed
 
cut trees
in the thicket
out front
 
let some light in
 
julliet says
she's writing a novel
and i admit
i'm jealous
of her youth
but only for a minute
 
i think about all the stories
the poems
the sculpture
the efforts
and know  
that somehow
this was meant to be --
me
old
pushing the mower
fixing the door
and the toilet
and the faucet,
still leaking
 
taking care
of business
before it all
goes back in the box
for the next man's
go 'round