by Earl J. Wilcox
This past week, sheer coincidence,
within two days of each other
two old neighbors died. She was 104.
He was 96. In recent years they lived
with their children across the street
from each other. Near the end both
were still spry, resonating an innocent
vigor truly old and wise people have.
Friends and family did the simple math today:
between the two the ancients had lived two
hundred years. Born with smoke from
the Spanish-American War still fanning
the air, the Centenarian and Nonagenarian
survived wars during almost every decade
of their long, long lives. They went out
while wars still rage. Combined, the two shared,
alas, twenty decades of wars and rumors of wars,
affirming the biblical adage once again.
Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl.
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