So, I’m not dead yet.
While my shelf life still remains a mystery
I bought a funeral of sorts —
a cremation party:
old Rock and Roll in the air
along with any of my residual ashes.

I plan to leave the house to a charity
that would annoy my neighborhood association
which loves the location of my garbage pails
and doesn’t fail to let me know their opinion.
Bad legacy will haunt me I have been told
by new age and old age everyones;
wherever I end up, I know I won’t care.

My stuff,
(i.e. GOOD JUNK)
will go to yard sales, thrift stores,
and resale junkies.
I nod and say goodbye daily
talking to or touching my stuff
and attaching memories on stickies
in case I turn out to be famous.
And after all the years of not liking
modern technology,
I can now report that a keyboard and screen
make some of the best friends
a semi-aging introvert could ever have

At this point
I admit to being tired of a lot of things
over which I have no control.
There’s nothing I can do
to change the current mess
that clogs up my heart, values, and hope.
Used-to-could.
Used-to-could hold a picket sign forever;
now I need to know where bathrooms are.
Used-to-could repartee with anyone
and manage my temper so I
could get in the last word.
Now I’m grateful I can remember
their names.
I think this is what
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are for.
And good cheese. And Oreos.
And I am Impressed that I still have
a sense of humor available to me
without the use of illegal anything.

I have been trying to decide
what is left for me to do or be
besides a wizard.
I have a good broom so there’s always
witchery: “Have Broom, Will Hover”
is on my business card along with
all the other earned markers.
Since my age and number continue to have
no real connection,
I will continue to speak
whether spoken-to or not,
find humor whenever possible,
and offer love and kindness
as if the 60’s hadn’t disappeared.
Me, Keith Richards, and Willie Nelson: The A team.