Getting Old Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Getting old



Reading the papers this morning
was a sad affair, so many of the famous stars of yesteryear
had succumbed to old age.

They were as I´m in their eighties and I felt their death
as a sting in my heart, soon it will be my time to go
I accept this, but will not sink into depression.

Of everything that has happened in my life I feel no guilt
hindsight is a waste of time, my lack of success is a bonus
I have no laurel to rest on and can do as I please.

What is noticeable is my lack of understanding
of a language that has changed it is more lose now and
that is good, but it takes some effort.

The river of words I bathed in, flows slower now it is
a struggle to find the right expression, I feel as I´m
learning to swim in colder water.

Living in Portugal as I do is fine they are gentler here
and has patience when I struggle for words in shops
I have to resort to poetic expressions.

They smile broadly and think what a funny old man
I don´t mind, my wife leans heavily on her crutch,
and she gets first in line. We try to look decrepit.

At the end of this month, I need a new driving license
I have spring in my steps, luckily my eyesight is good
and the heart and diabetes go unmentioned.