Another Writing Prompt: “Is there anything you feel too old to do anymore?”

Oh, how very, very yes
Unless it is that I
Never felt young enough to do it
Or if I did
It has been so many years that
I have forgotten it
Or having known it
Which just shows that
I am
In fact
Too old for this kind of thing
That kind of thing
The other kind of thing
All the things, really

Feels like this, sometimes
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I know it’s the wrong answer
Age is just a number
You’re only as old as you feel
You’re barely however many years old
What do you know about being
Too old
And who decides what too old is anyway?
All that nonsense
You’ve heard it all, I’m sure

That much said
I will sit at my desk and write
Watching out the window as the world goes by
The young in years and yearnings
Doing what they do

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Addressing Another Writing Prompt

Tell us one thing you hope people never say about you
They said
As if there are not many things
As if they have not already been said
Many times by
Many mouths in
Many places
And my own mouth is among them

I’m surprised it’s not a cat…
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No ioperamide stems that tide
That flows regardless of the moon
From me
And surges out
Drowning rather than uplifting
Swelling too often ungently

But if one piece of flotsam
Buoys up unwanted
It does not do to call it out
It is rude to point out the flaws of others
Where yet others can see
No, you tell your friend in private that
They’ve got something in their teeth
Just there–
It’s not like a badge or anything

No
I don’t think I’ll say anything to answer
Besides
It’s not like there’s any lack of ideas

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