Old Man Forever Young Poem by Pasha Satara

(for HG, Sr., who taught me to be a child)

old man forever young
frail w/lungs filling w/fluid,
poor sad old man,
i remember yr vibrancy,
yr heyday, yr need to give
a good impression.

after she told me the news,
i felt yr struggle
for every breath.
we can count them now,
for they are numbered.

did you know
when you lit the dinner candles
you turned my life to ON?

or that
when you took me to DC,
my social conscience was born?

or that Greenwich Village
in the early 70s
was a blooming flower, like me?

some memories are worth keeping;
some are better thrown away.
& sometimes, all we want
is a breath of fresh air,
no rattle.

i loved you;
despite & because of
who you've been.
is it difficult to sleep,
waiting for angels?