Poem: Wobbly

My legs are a bit wobbly.
My balance is off.
My thinking was hazy,
so I just took a nap.
And now I must tell you,
I’m still feeling lazy
and that makes me cross.

I still move with ease.
When told to touch toes,
I flatten my hands on the floor.
While others may groan,
I try for one more.
But when told to stand on one foot
with eyes firmly closed,
I find I now look
for something to hold.

It’s also my eyes.
Things look a bit fuzzy,
but still not that bad.
Doc says, “20/30, you’re really quite lucky.”

So here’s what I do.

A tool threads my needle.
Drops clear my eyes.
I use larger print and turn up the light.
It’s not really a problem, so far I’m alright.

Now all of a sudden I really must pee.
I thought I could hold it,
I thought I could wait.
Oh, how can I manage
this problem I so hate.

Sorry, what did you say?
Please tell me again.
My hearing aids are new,
yet sounds seem to blend.
Repeat it now loudly.
I didn’t quite hear.

My hands have a tremor.
My feet, how to say, either they feel crawly
or else they’re asleep.

In two years I’ll be 90.
Oh my God, can it be?
A number so ancient I never did count it.
But now I can see that I dare not discount it.

I’ve now lost my keys.
I’ve forgotten your name.
Oh well, who hasn’t?
I’m hardly to blame.
Now I pocket my keys,
jot down your name.
But my writing’s a scribble.
At times I can’t read it — so I talk into my phone.
Now there’s a solution.
I really do need it.

They say, “You’re so young for your years.”
It’s always been so.
I answer, “I have good fortune, good genes.”
And although it is true,
my legs are still flighty.
I still lose my keys.
My eyes still see fuzzy.
I’m not sure what to do.

Will exercise delay this endgame that looms?
Experts do say so.
I certainly hope so.

But today is my problem. I feel a bit wobbly.
And I’ve forgotten your name.

“It was on the Big Island while watching the fiery Kīlauea Iki eruption that I first saw her,” Glenn says about his wife, Mary, who are both Kāhala Nui retirement community residents. “She was riding her Vespa, her blond ponytail flying.” They married and have had adventurous lives together living around the world. Mary has been a Girl Scout professional, a manuscript editor, an Austrian tour guide, a Victorian dressmaker, a potter and a literacy tutor. For years, she edited the text books Glenn wrote. “I’ve been after her to start writing for herself. This is a recent piece she wrote for Generations Magazine.”

If you have a poem, thoughts or a story to share, email the editor: debra@generations808.com.