Eden and Methuselah

I’m glad that I can’t shed my skin and grow

A new persona since I might succumb

To that temptation. I’d shed age below

Me onto others, Eve-like, who might come

Too close. I’d offer the besetting sin

Of being old and slackened, arthritic,

And bad tempered — with my wrinkled skin.

This sloughed off gift would be catalytic

In giving them the wisdom of my years

As it enveloped them. With wisdom they

Would know how they could avoid my tears

And hatreds. I’d be young and they’d be gray.

Indeed, I think that I’d be glad to share

With all. I have cynicism to spare.