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storage place calls,
working on keeping our rate
low, and mentions
he noticed I’m eligible
for the senior rate.
<slight pause:brief silence>
“I’m not calling you
old, or anything,” he
continues contritely,
and then, courteously
adds, “Just recognizing
your experience
and wisdom.”
Smart. Nice touch.
But I want to tell him,
“This wasn’t my idea.
This thing of aging, becoming
senior-discount-worthy.
I had nothing to do with this.
I want nothing to do with this.”
It happens.
It happened.
It is happening.
So, now, I go to a store
or restaurant and ask
if they give it. Some say
yes. Some say no.
All look at me
like I’m halfway
in my grave.
What do I care?
I’ve lived. I’ve experienced.
And that wisdom I’ve gained
says, “So what’s so bad
about a discount?”
I’ll take it. As if I have a choice
about why I can.
=======
* It’s PoMo! To learn about PoMo (POetry MOnday), click here.
Aging. What can you do? Does this poem resonate with your experience? Do you take your available senior discounts? Is 10% enough? Share your thoughts and experiences in the comments!
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