Living the Aging Life

I’m baking my zucchini bread.

It sort of makes me drool.

I use the special recipe

I got at Schmitz Park School.

Tucker was a special dog,

filled with joy and fun.

He exuded dog-vitality,

and, Boy!…could Tucker run!

Tucker caught and fetched the ball,

jumped in the lake to swim,

ran circles all around the yard

to sniff what int’rests him.

Tucker’s bod was lithe and sleek,

a choc’late canine beauty.

He kept his nose and ears alert,

on his protective duty.

He gave his heart to Cheryl.

He was loyal to the end.

He was a very special dog.

And, most of all, a friend.

Tucker was a good dog.

Well… at least…he always tried.

Sometimes “goodness” was elusive,

but, he always, always tried.

Dogs grow old, and end their time.

With sadness, we must part.

Tucker gave his courage.

He also gave his heart.

Three candles burn for Tucker

as his life comes to an end.

The candles burn for Tucker:

our Companion, and our Friend.

Drought and floods and immigration.

Insurrection in the nation.

COVID, war, and Monkey Pox.

I am rocked out of my Socks!

!

I’ve got my truck.

I’ve got my gun.

I’m just as good as anyone.

I’ve gas and guns.

I’ve got my ride.

So, Hello, World!

Just step aside!

Lullaby, my little one.

Now, close your sleepy eyes.

May angels guard you in your sleep.

Then, wake to sun lit skies.

When I was a girl, I used to think

you could get to the bottom of the kitchen sink.

You could finish all the dishes, sweep the crumbs up off the floor,

and hang the messy apron on the kitchen door.

You could wash up all the laundry, iron the clothes there in the stack,

and wipe up all the dishes from the drying rack.

But, now I am a woman, and I know it’s never done.

You finish any one thing and another has begun.

I light three candles for the world.

They’re meant to help us through.

One’s for Tucker.

One’s for us.

And, one burns just for you.

I didn’t watch the news tonight.

I just don’t want to know.

I don’t want to see the anguish.

I don’t want to hear the woe.

I don’t want to learn about

the latest thing that we must dread.

I don’t want to hear what’s coming

with its direful, speedy spread.

I’m just sitting on my sofa

buffeted away from sound,

tucked away from any further word

with silence all around.