A Poem to Myself for My 70th Birthday

My beloved Uncle Murray

At a sprightly ninety-five

Was looking fit and going strong

And vigorously alive.

He swam each day, played tennis too,

Enjoyed the occasional Bloody Mary,

Loved long drives along the shore

Seemed touched by a youth-giving fairy.

I asked him once when he first felt old

And he paused for some reflection.

“When I turned seventy,” he said,

“But my answer needs dissection.”

“Old was not how my body felt,

“Nor the feeling in my head.

“Old was what the number meant

“From all the generalities we’re fed.”

He logged two more active years in life,

His wife reigned till a hundred five

I think of them both as my birthday looms

And I separate truth from jive.

Like my uncle at seventy,

I feel young in body and mind.

Like my uncle, I feel seventy’s weight

And it’s got me in a bind.

My youth and prime are in the past,

No ifs or ands or buts.

Yet I still have miles and miles to go

More high points and more ruts.

It’s up to me to guide the ship

From now until the end,

My eyes fixed on my northern star

And on what’s around the bend.

My beloved Uncle Murray

Lived a life that I admired.

He consumed a megaton of joy

Before his time expired.

So when I too turn seventy

Just like he did before me,

I’ll cast aside the psychic weight

As I know he would implore me.

I’ll love my wife and tour the world,

Learn keyboard, pick guitar,

Play tennis, as my uncle did,

Take long drives in the car.

They’re just two numbers, 7,0

And I won’t let them defeat me.

“Out demon digits, from my head!

“No way I’ll let you cheat me!”

Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday to me.

This calls for a celebration.

If I can kick those numbers’ ass,

I’ll bathe in jubilation.

I think I may, I think I might,

I’m pretty sure I’ve got it.

Genetics say I’ve decades left

And I damn near just forgot it.

Bring on seventy, come what may.

Let life’s stage hands raise the curtain.

I’m ready now for my next act.

It’ll pack a punch, I’m certain!