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.