you were young and strong

you didn't think any rules applied to you

so you played your hand

you made your call

and win or lose

your victory or your defeat

was just one more item

in the perpetual chain of happenstance

passing into some void


and now you are old worn

down and hobbling

to the soon-to-be-obsolete newsstand

to read a soon-to-be-obsolete newspaper

to eat an egg and potato breakfast

at some coffee shop

and inspect the fools of this age

as they parade their vanity

seeking some empty immortality

of being famous

of letting ages to come know that they were here


and even then who remembers

Al St. John

or Mary Pickford

or Stoopnagel and Budd

who still alive remembers

Fibber McGee's closet

or Barbara Hutton

or any who were "famous long ago"


while you sit in the coffee shop

remembering your own youth

your memories the only record left

of your time

when you were young and strong

and thought you'd make some kind

of difference


only to see all you thought you were doing

mixed into a blended past

that speaks in generalities

to lives so foreign in its particulars

but in essence

no different than yours


headstones in cemeteries

worn by wind and rain

to indecipherable markings

of vanishing name and inclusive dates

if you're not too anguished

you'll see that the only time that matters

is the Present

the only time there is

where whether young and strong

or old and hobbling

you are still here


you are still always here....



Content (c) 2008-2012 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.