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Saturday, May 31, 2014


“How old are you?”
inquisitive folks have asked me
this at different points in my life.
In my twenties I heard them say,
“ Oh, I thought you were older than that.”
 In my forty fifth year, it changed to
“I never thought you were forty five.
I thought you were my age;
around thirty four or thirty five.”
Is age going to be constant
with you so you can call any age yours?
What is wrong in being forty five?
What is good about being thirty five?
While I am busy contemplating these
a series of questions about my
different statuses throng my way,
as though my interviewer is desperate
 to find a clue to my apparent young looks
 in my personal profile.
Once enough is elicited
the other invariably  blabbers  away
explanations and  apologies for asking
personal questions,
all making no sense but revealing
a lack of sensibility.
I try to figure out what has someone’s ideas
about anyone’s  age got to do with one’s life

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