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Image for the poem Come, Come, We are Too Old to Panic

Come, Come, We are Too Old to Panic

The clankety-clank of the body
has become like a low rumble
of a running, untuned motor,
the metal-to-metal squeaking
is now a dull, negligible burr,
a hum we can choose to be deaf to.

It is no longer a dash to doctors
when there is blood or a baffling pinch,
quick prayers are paracetamol,
pluck and the bag of ice will suffice
we are too old to worry about health.

I am grateful that I can still choose
what to eat for breakfast (two boiled eggs),
that in the age I pop painkillers
like mints, these hands are commissioned still,
that I leave the house knowing the people
with whom I live are dry and under blankets,
like boa constrictors enjoying
a deliciously slow waking.
Alviola
Written by Alviola
Published
Author's Note
Image by 4924546 from Pixabay
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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