It was not wisdom

It was not wisdom

That came with age,

But invisibility,

He had the bruises

To prove it.

Although his joints

Were stiff,

And the bones

Always seemed to

Rub him up the wrong way,

He stepped aside,

When youngsters

Talking on phones,

Identikit people,

Behaving like clones,

Bowled right along,

Lost, in their own world,

Singing a song

On their ipod,

Smoking weed,

Grown from seed,

Thinking they were cool,

Not a fool,

Not like him,

For getting old,

But a real hot rod.

And if he was slow

They soon let him know.

With a scowl,

A tut, hissed

From between clenched teeth.

And a shoulder charge,

A reckless barge,

That took his breath away.

And then, they were gone,

Kept moving on,

With a swagger.

The old man lost his,

Years ago,

His walk more of a shuffle,

A breathless stagger.

But nobody seemed to care,

The occasional stare.

From a baby,

Wheeled by

In an expensive push chair.

He had a car that cost less,

Once upon a time.

He was unsure

What hurt him most.

Getting old,

Or

Becoming a ghost.