heirloom

yes

 I am evolving 

not that my little finger

is getting littler

or anything so wonderfully curious as that

– my third eye is still

slumbering

and

I can’t extract oxygen

from the ocean

I so love to

immerse myself in
but look, my cells

still drop away daily – 

replaced by some

that are just

that much better

– or so I like to believe
yet,

I have been taught

to call it aging,

that being the most comfortable word for the process
and as such,

I’m a bit more careful 

as I slog my way through

this glorious mire

I share with you all
I’m not entirely sure

I want to put all my chips on the alleged regenerative properties of neuroplasticity should my head

bounce off the asphalt 

in an ill conceived attempt to recapture my youth

via a ride

on a grandchild’s skateboard
no, my recliner is quite exciting enough most days

and I’m finding that

I swing an axe with a bit more caution now

hell, I even bend at the knees

when picking tomatoes
I can tolerate a sore knee

but, the back?

listen, it’s taken about a million years to get to where the thing keeps me upright 

I’m not about to tweak it

for a hunger driven desire

for an heirloom beefsteak
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead