Old People

Sometimes when I'm out and about I'll

See an old woman

Harlequin glasses, varicose veins

Thinning hair dyed garrishly

Wire thin arms

Or an old man

Mincing steps, hair sprouting from his ears, head

Stretched forward like a turtle

Confusion in his filmy eyes

And I'll think,

When did this happen to you?

Did you decide

Or participate

Or was it just the erosion

All flesh is heir to?

And then I'll realize

That old woman

That old man

Was born just a few years before me

And then I have to wonder

Who's looking at me?

And

What did I (did I?) choose, 

Did I participate?

Or . . . .