The Last Box, by Doug Hansmann

A new pensioner, scanning the census, discerns
what a steely-eyed glance in the mirror confirms.
The text reckons aging with figures and facts.
The reflection, a boomer resignedly grasps.

Remember when “you should” matured to “I could”
When, as teens, we metamorphed to adulthood?
Thrilled to reach the age of majority.
Jet fueled, yet grounded by higher authority.

Middle age, and ascendancy.
Cresting median, then mean, relentlessly
onward, propelled by responsibility.

Now, the elder days have started.
Feeling dazed and dismayed when disregarded.
Finding comfort and meaning when larded and barded.

Approaching mortality; the demographic reality.

Yet launching anew can still happen.
You can transcend any cataracts or statins!

Prospects abound.
Vision-board futures, whether safe or sound.
And obstacles that remain are no longer constrained
by brain-numbing notions like pay and promotions.

New thoughts — intriguing.
Enthralling — some fleeting.
The ever-present-tense experience
of a once in a super-blue-moon existence.

So check that last box on the census form!
It’s game on. Take senior status by storm.
Pay heed to the patterns of love when you see them
and don’t hesitate — carpe each diem!

Doug Hansmann, Ridgeway