When I am old,
I will bark at the stars in heaven.
I will buy a new car,
with sleek lines,
and race between the cinder blocks
lining the street in front of the house.
When I am old,
I will miss the grasping youth,
who held her with a passion,
and kissed soft lips
and rounded hips,
and never knew
what he had.
When I am old,
I will rise from the chair carefully,
so as not to break a bone,
or strain a muscle,
that once was strong and firm.
When I am old,
I will think about the lost days,
spent worrying about things
that never came to pass,
and about the time I wasted
wanting to change the past.
When I am old,
I will spend more time
putting on my socks,
and taking my medications,
and crying over lost love.
I will wonder how many more days
I have until I won’t be old anymore.
When I am old,
I will write poems
about love and loss.
I will remember when they were
living memories,
and not dying thoughts.
When I am old,
I will wish that I had stayed young forever. 
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