Arthritic ageist.

 I am an ageist now,

I hate my arthritic finger,

Which is crooked and makes me drop

That which I attempt to hold.

I hate the grind of bone on bone

In my arthritic knees.

I love watching birds

Envying the elegance of their flight.

When I stagger out

Balancing with walking stick

And shopping trolley

To put rubbish in dustbins

All of ten yards

It’s my journey for the day

Then I watch people walking by in the street

Every stride they take

Looks as miraculous as flight to me

I am an earthbound and static ageist

Replaying memories

And listening to music played by ghosts

Waiting to be carried to the grave

That is why I am an

Arthritic ageist.