At Sixty-Five

Today two presences,

voluminously robed,

arrived inside me

to announce

that they had probed

the thing I am

and now had come

to rid my hard-drive

of its logjam (common,

they explained,

when one attained

the age of sixty-five):

thereby unmasking me

from me so I might see

the single answer

to the largest question

I had not known

I was asking.

 “There’s one thing

that can save,”

they said, their tone

appropriately grave.

“Be brave – go out

and badly misbehave.”





.