To walk around
and keep saying,
‘My eyes are bad
My legs are bad’
is the hopelessness of old age
And the way we look.
This is how the young see the old;
sadoes, those with failing technology
and sagging skin,
who no longer flaunt the kudos of success.
Yet what they forget is that old brains
are a hidden and mysterious tech
old but analogue
with a surprising long history of
stability and dependability
A wonder to ride on
And to sleep securely in, confident of arrival
With no daft illusions, just windows passing quickly
Nothing could be sweeter
Than to be a world beater…
To look around at growing generations is sad.
The young man thinks the old man is stupid
The old man knows the young man is stupid.
© Michael Clifford 10/22