When a Poet Turns Sixty-Five

The poet with his Wonderful Life collection

This week I reach that storied age
where (as I reach to turn the page)
I realize my book called LIFE
is racing toward the end.

At sixty-five I don't feel old.
But (based on what I have been told)
there are some folks who just might choose
to celebrate with me.

Arthur Rightus is a pain.
When he shows up, he leaves me lame.
And where Art goes, Ben Gay is sure
to tag along as well.

Dee Mentia can be such a jerk.
She shows up at my place of work
and steals all kinds of memories.
I think that Dee is cruel.

Ty Lenol and Anna Sen
have been my parents' trusted friends.
But these two chums can wait their turn.
Right now, I'm feeling fine.

And then there's Cole Lenoscopy.
He's quite invasive, don't you see?
I cringe whenever Cole's around.
He leaves me awfully drained.

Jerry Attricks thinks it's time
to join him for a glass of whine.
But I'm not ready to admit
his club is where I fit.

So much for folks who want to be
invited to my grand party.
I think a dinner with my wife
is all I really want.

To read about Greg's "It's a Wonderful Life" collection shown in the photo above, see the December 2016 article from the Mercer Island Reporter