There’s something about round numbers and the human brain. We might not bat an eye at turning a year older — but when the years turn into a new decade — that seems significant. This Typewriter Rodeo poem came by request and offers a new perspective.
50
(for Elizabeth)
Who decides
These numbers?
I mean
If you ask me
I don’t feel
Like a number
I just feel
Like a crisp sunny morning
Good cup of coffee or tea
A walk around the neighborhood
Feet sure, legs strong, head up
I flick the leaves
Of the trees I pass
A high five to life
And there’s a number
Why not that?
Why is it five zero
I’ll make it a high five
Every day
So here’s to me
Here’s to getting
Stronger
Here’s to more walks
Here’s to more high fives
With trees
With sunshine
With whatever
Is up
Next.
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