Gettin' on

Intimations of Mortality
by GC Smith


My  joints complain

Complaints not against
that young athlete
who pushed body feats
to outer endurance limits
and even then would not quit

My brain falters

It frequently farts
stumbles over my name
while yours is lost to the ether;
it now suffers a nascent dementia,
Irish style, remembering only grudges

My heart speaks

It murmurs
a bumbling, offbeat cadence
that is neither  poetry nor prose
but, rather, is a coded message
about the inexorability of time

My guts say

Soldier on,
it’s what to do,
it’s nothing new,
it’s simply the way,
it’s life worth the livin’