The Plan

Over more than half a century
I developed expectations
Of my body.

It served me well
Answering every demand
Required.

I have pushed it uphill.
I have slowed its descent.

I have withheld adequate provision.
I have supplied more than required.

I have enforced extreme hardship.
I have allowed excessive pleasures.

But it betrays me.

Like a pilotless helm
It sometimes does not answer
The rudder
Setting me adrift
In a sea of need.

I often stumble
In modest incline.
I make use of a cane
To support my stride
No longer the man
Of confident gait.

My formerly well-lubricated form
Now pops and creaks
Groans and moans
When stressed.

I must take sleeping aids
To promote proper rest.
I rise hours before dawn
At the slightest disturbance.

My appetite flags
Before generous portions.
That which effected pleasure
Now seems like work.

Daily
My face appears a dim shadow
Of the confidence it once inspired.

What am I to do?

This is my plan:
I will celebrate the capable vehicle
And powerful engine
My body once was.

But from this time forward
I believe I will take the bus.