The Dangers Of Being Old Poem by David McLansky

There is a silence from the phone,
It rings and rings and no ones home;
A lack of interest in the weather,
The temperature no longer measured;
And yet I hear her plaintive voice,
The old are so reduced of choice,
No refuge can extend her life,
She can’t afford to pay the price;
What purpose to keep her alive
When being old she cannot thrive;
She’s too unsteady to be a nurse,
Robbed of health she lives accursed.
Find a love who will sustain
Although you writhe in bitter pain;
One who sits still as your friend
As you sleep more at the end;
One though aching will still rise
To bring your tea and “”a surprise, ”
And as you succumb once more a child,
Will greet you with a mother’s smile.