Sixty-Two
Now that I’m sixty-two, I won’t be moving
to Seattle anytime soon,
won’t be dunking on the neighbor kid on legit rims,
won’t be drinking myself stupid drunk,
unless the book sells, then all bets are off.
Won’t be pulling the wings off flies,
or poisoning the ants that have made
a highway of the windowsill,
won’t be shaving the dog or staring down the cat.
I’ve gotten far too old for that.
What I’d like to do, now that I’m sixty-two,
is walk among trees aflame in fall,
make a hobby out of listening to the calls
of the small birds that have made
the hedge their stage,
whittle a pointed twig into a pointed stick,
dance in the rain like a crazy person,
organize the bookshelf by essentials and others,
all the things I couldn’t be bothered to do,
until I opened my eyes, at sixty-two.
16 thoughts on "Sixty-Two"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
I can relate. Great poem!
…listening to the calls/
of the small birds/ that have made
the hedge their stage…
That’s what I’m talking about!
I had to laugh at your line about the possibility of selling gobs of books. Don’t we wish!
Love this so much, although we should reconsider getting stupid drunk if we are also to dance in the rain.
What a beautiful reflection on aging and how it changes our perspectives and wishes. The balance of truth and humor here:
“Won’t be pulling the wings off flies,
or poisoning the ants that have made
a highway of the windowsill,
won’t be shaving the dog or staring down the cat.
I’ve gotten far too old for that.”
This is amazing, Bill. I really like this one a ton. It’s one of my favorites of yours. Fantastic!
Just what do you have against playing chicken
with a cat? (I always lose) 😂
Love this one. When you get a major award for selling books, try creme de menthe. Guaranteed control.
Great. I love this.
(today I will skip 62 rocks across
the lake for you)
I love the simplicity of this.
And all ican really say is, me too.
“What I’d like to do, now that I’m sixty-two,/
is walk among trees aflame in fall,”
A mere child
LOL Just what I was thinking.
Love the random simplicity of ideas here, Bill! Book sales a great touch! “the small birds that have made/the hedge their stage” – awesome. Now you have several years to consider a poem for the Beatles “When I’m 64.”
my favorite from before: “shaving the dog”
my favorite from now: “dance in the rain like a crazy person”
Happy Birthday
If you think 62 is cool, wait until you hit 65 — PAAARTY.
Good, poem, Bill.
WOAH.
Lovely and rich.
Such a tender ending.
‘unless the book sells, then all bets are off.’
Amen to that brother!
Lovely!
A nice settling peace in this recokoning of sixty-two!
So many lines to love, a fav: staring down the cat.
Well landed: all the things I couldn’t be bothered to do,
until I opened my eyes, at sixty-two.