I Was Old

I owned a harp and the harpist

Was you my love.

My fibre was weak and my backbone was given

To sentimental reflection.

The electorate fetishized my heart,

Possessed my mind in its all,

And my spirit was evenly distributed.

My eyes were wet.

I was old.

I owned two hundred acres

And the gamekeeper he

Was in love with me.

I ate what I wanted, though I wanted only you. There was nobody then

Who could stop me. I was so tasteful and careless

And I wish, then, that if you could but have only seen me

More often.

I was old.

I had many new notions. Everybody

Said I had an ear for public opinion and everybody

Said my jawline was divine.

Some evenings I couldn’t stop talking shit!

I drove a soft-top sedan, I cured

Pancreatic cancer, I kissed

My heroes, kissed their fans also,

And I bought my mother dinner.

Father poured us both a drink.

I was old.

I drank toasts to my family

And my family’s families, and so on, and on,

Till I came to yours. I could not measure

My satisfaction. Though some did try.

I was so strong and aimless that I cheered

Over available parking spaces, and I cheered

Over animals on the loose from my

Poorly guarded menagerie, and I cheered to see

Those cups of black tea you brewed that we

Could stand up our spoons in.

I was old. I was old.

I had to refuse to take the crown

From many. Many said no one blushed

Better than me. Some nights I had to sing

Just to remind them I was human. To sing

Till it hurt my brain and the rain was less than romantic.

I knew Esperanto, shoemaking, sweet music,

Religion, book-binding, cigars, and card tricks,

And when my mother,

My phenomenal mother,

When she died, I arranged for her a parade ever greater

Than even that of my phenomenal father.

The fallen leaves flew back up to the trees just to see it.

I was old.

I got so old I started smoking again.

The guards started slipping me fivers

And the courtiers kissed my forehead goodnight.

My enemies soon learnt to cast a blind eye upon

My seizures, my fits, my ignoble flatulence,

And my weepy moments,

And when I failed to exile

Misery in its entire,

You and I tracked it down, down to a cold hall still lit

By the the dewy dawn, and from thereon we all

Slept until noon.

I was old.

The sun confided in me when no else would.

And that was the time I refused to receive

Not one soul but yours. Do you remember

The year I became incapable of curses?

Or, do you remember all that property I bought

For us? For you. Do you remember the week I thought I was still young??

You laughed then, so long, so enchantingly long,

And I knew then that would be the closest

I could come

To knowing you.

I was old.

I didn’t recognise my legs.

My cheeks were swollen, I was old. And I realise, now,

That I gesticulated far too vague

When asked whether it were most expedient for a statesman to die

In the autumn

Or in the spring.

Eating straight from the table,

And drinking with final daring from

A golden string, and slipping at last

Strangers’ rings

Upon your fingers, I bid you sit closer still,

Till where once I sat

Be where I find you now.