A Universe of Mortals
First, I caught him sitting down to shave.
Then, I noticed how many tries before
he could push up from the couch.
Retired ten years, it doesn’t matter
that he lies in bed unwilling to budge
until 9:30 or 10, except to me, who misses
the man who once rose at 6 a.m.
to bike before work, who played tennis
on Saturdays, bowled on Thursday nights.
His doctor blames blood cells
refusing to offer
the right numbers on tests.
I blame a universe of mortals.
Where precious and permanent
cannot be paired.
And growing older means
preparing to let go.