In Commemoration
Another birthday just went by
Unremarked and unremarkable,
Except to note the achievement
Of the one who gave me birth,
As if I had some part of it.
No matter. It is a day like any other
Unless it is to scratch the wall of life
With one more mark
In a procession toward oblivion.
I nod toward my progenitors
One man, one woman, and then
Long lines of intercourse
That wove time to time
And place to place,
No one remembering the joy,
The moments of ecstasy
That mingled dangling genes
And made me who I think I am,
(As long as I am exists).
Three score and ten?
I am pushing eighty and thus
Have moved the target beyond the brink.
I think it is an admirable achievement,
Another one of which I had no part.
The art of living well is to forget the past
And ignore the future,
Knowing full well
That I will not tell
Tales to my children’s
Children’s children.
I commemorate this day,
As I do each day I awaken
And see the sun rise
Or the rain fall.
It is nothing special,
Nothing at all.
