trudging through snow covered
streets enroot to the Washington
Monument, I readily challenged all
social injustice, created lasting change,
deviated by necessity from the norm.
Golden years cast shadows, curb
momentum, as thirty-something
adults frequently offer up bus seats,
allow me access to crowed crosswalks,
wave as I’m riding a bicycle, grey hair
hanging below a protective helmet.
Now when I attend comedy clubs,
jokesters poke fun of my tie-dye
shirts, inquire if I’m okay, call me
Willie Nelson (ask if I’m loaded),
wonder whether I’ll outlive performances,
or shower the headliner with death rattle laughter.