Things Are Changing.

Why is it everywhere I walk the path slopes up
and yet I never seem to reach the top,
and why on my return, does it continue up not down?
why half way there and half way back I need to stop?

Why are my feet a little farther from my hands,
for so it seems when lacing up my shoes,
and arms seem heavier too when reaching up
to comb my hair, and top shelves now I hardly use?

My armchair, erstwhile soft, responding to my need,
is comfortless although with cushions now replete,
becoming somewhat lumpier to vital parts
and less accommodating to my spreading seat.

Chairs becoming smaller, closer to the floor
and never did I use the arms for supplement
or struggle sideways, squat to purchase so a rise,
or breathe protesting puffs, or grunt accompaniment.

The noise of modern life much louder and intrudes
Yet, when attentive, listening, I miss the gist
of what I hear, look blank and answer ‘Yes’ and nod
when I should answer ‘No’ to what was said, but missed.

Embarrassed, to my ‘pardon’ – ‘what’ – and ‘say again’ –
‘excuse me please’, I didn’t quite catch what you said’
hear voices raised with slightly deferential tone
and understanding smile, as if my senses fled.

Where once I saw, so many views are now unclear
with eyes not focusing to pinpoint clarity.
The same be said of mind and tired philosophy
for gone opinions held with past alacrity.

Some comfort though; where once I thought I was alone
in sampling the cost of three score - ten or more,
find others feel the same, who come to terms each day,
do not from battle shy but rally to the fore.

*********

Yet tired am I, world-weary and apart the stream
that ever flows outside my door for now am cast
like some poor fish who, flound’ring in the margin of life’s ebb
needs swim to live, as tides and time go flowing past.

My world is changing inexplicably, unchecked.
Each morning, rising from my bed a sort of test !
Where once I sprang to meet the day I cock an eye,
resignedly assess that mere survival best –

But wait ! Is that the phone? Was that a knock I heard?
A letter on the mat ! Not brown but white and penned.
A hand I know and welcome too, I’ll draw the blinds,
the world review and though things not quite right;

I’ll just pretend.

by    John  Plumridge

HJP. May 96. p104

        Things Are Changing.           John lives in Stoke Poges, near Slough