Screw the Pooch

My hands were steady
On the controls.
My eyes were clear.
My back was strong.
I acted with authority.
I was skilled
At making things work.
If it wouldn’t fit
I’d force it.
People looked to me
To solve their problems
Resolve their troubles.

I've snatched lives back from the brink
Starred down death
Raced dark streets with lights and sirens.

Then it snapped.

My hands are not only off the controls
But the very controls
Are missing.

I no longer direct life
Life directs me.

I’m in a flat spin
And losing altitude.

I will inevitably
Auger in
Pancake
Splash one
Screw the pooch.

What does a man do
When he can no longer manage
What he once could do in his sleep?

It’s not a Viagra thing.
It’s not about a manly bearing
The right cologne
Bulging biceps
Or ripped pecs.

It’s about my gray matter.
It’s about the ability to navigate tossing seas.
It’s about being the captain I once was.

Where the hell are the controls?