Get Age Poem by Michael Sharkey

You too can have flaking skin,
lank hair and
trembling hands and
glassy eyes
and clotted veins and
vertigo
and hearing loss,
with Age, the thoughtful gift.

It's coming soon, to leucocytes near you.

Thousands who have had it
can't remember anything else.

No more jangled hormones,
wacky hair styles, optimism,
boundless energy and pimples,
ready answers, naive questions and weird clothes.

Just be yourself.

Throw out shoes you wish you'd never purchased,
wedding presents you've detested all your life,
and picture plates, Masonic aprons, letters, souvenirs and memories.

No one cares how you look now
or what you think,
with Age, the wonder cure
for popularity and youth and fashion consciousness.
Get nondescript.

With Age you get a mystery gift:
remorse;
a fixed conviction
that no project you've begun
will be completed;
crazy rhythms in the jungle of your heart;
and others' pity:
get all four!

Don't be like the good
and go in crashes or the oven,
or with drugs or
rope, exhaust fumes in the garage,
or with guns
or knives:
get Age.

What would Sir or Madam like?
Paralysis or
blindness,
loss of speech?

Age has the lot.

Become invisible to others,
disappear right off your map.

Can't stand the body
wrapped around your bones?
Age has the answer.

You too can get Age
by quaffing schooners full of beer,
or worrying about what people think
(or if they do)
or working hard for an employer.

You deserve it.

Get it in you.

(: , , , 2000)