Joyful Bitterness Getting old, older anyway, Has Among its benefits, Joyful bitterness— A crazy sounding thing to say Bad as that might sound to those of you Young, still full of hope, It’s a simple fact too. We older ones learn This hard truth: Only time Can carry us through: Friendships In their DNA Have Paltry limitations, built-in expiration dates. Absent any explanation My ‘best’ friend For half a century Is now grotesque to me Ugly not just as an Obese, troll But deep down In his darkest soul— It’s not a single thing That can be described, It’s a rotting at the core of himself A deadly stinking tide; The friendship cannot go on I won’t allow it. Life has forced its permanent closure; There is no alternate fit. Maybe Age is not the issue Maybe it’s more of a Wisdom thing, An ancient knowledge, Always there for decades a rip in the tissue I lift a whiskey to my lips And stare at the perfect ass And big boobs Of a lovely/sexy woman Who has just walked past. She doesn’t glance my way if she did I’d be invisible to her. An old man with nothing to say She may not be Thinking about her striking Beauty as she goes by Or about, just now, Flicking her head so her shiny hair Makes all of us sigh Remembering when we were young and strong Living out our own sweet lies. She keeps a view of her face obstructed for none to see-- she may be Thinking exactly about How gorgeous she happens to be She’s a woman, after all And songs, Legends, Myths, Lives, Deaths Have always been Written about her Devoted to her slightest whims— Is my age the thing that Shows me this truth? This terrible accumulation of Aging wisdom with all it’s costs; I’ve seen this woman Tens of thousands of times. Through hot summer days And cold winter frosts And this morning As she walks on by, Maybe tweeting her simple thoughts sentimental notions About love, Her cat(s) And battles she’s fought About her favorite drink The prettiness of rainbows The unfairness of a friend Her sad, sad day-- And we men, Seeing her flick her hair away, Regardless of our age or status Our wealth/fame/or out lack thereof Regardless of any and all else, Stop whatever we’re doing And Tweet our regards, Our sympathies Our admiration, Our kind words Our deepest Understanding. We Re-tweet her vapid Empty Notions As if they matter We favorite all her tweets As if they Matter greatly. Greatly, Because Well, You never know. . . Joyful bitterness Comes from Finally seeing/hearing, Listening/noticing Many things That have always been Right in front of us But that For whatever Combination of reasons We somehow could Not quite notice. It has taken time to learn that Honesty Always comes with a price, That directness often Leads to loss, whether yer wrong or right— age has little to do with it Other than the truth That it takes years to attain joyful bitterness a longtime past our youth.
