Club 83
Club 83
It’s true, what you didn’t believe. Just the
thought of it caused you to grieve: that you’d
become me at eighty-three, much
older than you can conceive. But such
victories we will achieve!
Now that you know you’ll become, not some
weak residue from a wonderful
youth (in truth a vain one), but a
powerful aggregate sum, age, as-
piring, and don’t just succumb.
First thing, I want you to write. So a-
void any purposeless fight. Since you
write for me and not for you, es-
chew stress, pretension and spite. Every
day always hold me in sight.
Second, I want you to save, so you’ll
dig yourself out of my grave. I’m re-
tired to write. That’s right. Each dime I
own is a penny you shaved off the
sugar and clutter you crave.
Third (this is locked, ironclad) love and
nurture that child you had. Stop and
breathe, believe, relieved, release the
friction if you’re getting mad. Her
comrade her guide you’re her dad.
Fourth, sugar poisons our blood, as will
Benzodiazepenes, bud. Venla-
faxine nixes sex, and wrecks the
precious brain chemistry’s flood. Restore
equilibrium, stud.
You must know my face is all smiles when I
thank you for keeping my files. Drafts com-
posed, the files are closed, our prose and
poems for bibliophiles, plays and
weird manifestos worthwhile.
Books are complete, every one, all the
quixotic fun you’ve begun. So your
mess has blessed me with success. My
legacy’s yours and it’s done. I’m out
gardening savoring sun.
2018