In Commemoration

Another birthday just went by Unremarked and unremarkable, Except to note the achievement Of the one who gave me birth, As if I had some part of it.

No matter. It is a day like any other Unless it is to scratch the wall of life With one more mark In a procession toward oblivion. I nod toward my progenitors

One man, one woman, and then Long lines of intercourse That wove time to time And place to place, No one remembering the joy,

The moments of ecstasy That mingled dangling genes And made me who I think I am, (As long as I am exists). Three score and ten?

I am pushing eighty and thus Have moved the target beyond the brink. I think it is an admirable achievement, Another one of which I had no part. The art of living well is to forget the past

And ignore the future, Knowing full well That I will not tell Tales to my children’s Children’s children.

I commemorate this day, As I do each day I awaken And see the sun rise Or the rain fall. It is nothing special,

Nothing at all.