When you reach your 51st winter
you see cracks on the ceiling
paint coming off
soot growing thicker
you see children teasing an old man
a dog inadvertently stepping into
a wrong neighbourhood
something missing in your voice
and realize that spring will never return
to your toenails
a new gadget
you can never get the hang of
The part of the new gadget that you can never get a hang of … Ouch !! But true it is ….
This was my first poem on this topic.