What a day
of sun and haze.

What it led to: digging out
shorts, sandals.  

What I felt like:
old man, old man.

What I know about
old man: I’m

settled into this age,
this body.  What I may do:

modify it some, clean it up
a little, make it more sound.

What will not change:
its confirmed age, how good it feels

in the sun and haze 
when the breeze tickles

the hair on my legs,
curves around my stuck-out belly.

What is untrue: that cliche about how age
is just a number.  That’s the mantra

of those terrified by age, 
who deny the real changes and wisdom

and sense that only comes with aging.
What is a payoff: how much more I love 

the edge of experience, now that I know
how far I can lean over when I’m on it;

how much I know about what it feels like
to fall.  What is true:  I am old man,

fine old fatty.  I look stupid
when I say I am not, but I’m not stupid.

I can count very high.  And
I count.