Oh, how the clock does tick, and life just
(Apologies to N. for the following):
My youngest son, not even twenty-one years old,
has begun to lose his hair. I guess it's the bad
luck of the gene pool here: both grandfathers,
as well as his father, "suffered" from this same
dwindling of the hirsute cranial population.
But isn't this something that happens
to (apologies) old men? Something that happens
when a boy can at least legally belly up to the bar?
Something that happens to a man
whose mother is older than me?
I know, I know. It's not all about me.
But yesterday, when I first officially
noticed this, I couldn't help but feel
an inexorable surging forward
in the global timeclock, a leap
into a future that I try to keep
a hand against, willing it to stay
in front of me a step or two,
instead of staring me in the eye.
Alas. Tick tock.