This Aging Thing
by Patti Rogers
I hear myself as I climb the stairs.
This aging thing.
This aging thing has no good end.
At the top of the stairs
I am laughing.
This living thing.
This living thing has no good end.
I look down the long hall.
It can't be that simple.
I think I will sleep in the back bedroom.
And look right out at the night sky.
The floors creak with each step
and cats, looking up,
watch through half-opened eyes.
Downstairs, the unmistakable thump
of the old cat landing on the floor.