Now in my eighties

Back in my twenties, a lady in her eighties

told me she could only do

just one thing in the day.

Now my eighties, exhibitions are

labyrinthine, heart-sinking,

as in some rooms, there are

no benches.

Names disappearing, day by day,

we all join in a game:

how long will each one take?

Fugitive words, the key to meaning,

fracture our discussions, that’s for sure,

but, so far, no keys nestled

in the fridge.

Elders lurk in the wings of life

- granny naps a must -  but

let’s not sleep away, our jewelled hours.

So much to do, so many books;

all of us survivors

should seize the day, 

before the curtain falls.