Heading into my middle 40’s
When once my 50’s
Seemed a eternity away
Now stares me in the face
Like a door half open

Welcoming change after change
From middle aged spread
And an ever increased line
Of meds and tablets

To a constant recollection
Of stories when you were younger
Leaving you reflecting afterwards
Whether some happened the way
You say they did

Half baked in irony
Like a music note
Falling from the sky
But shrugged off
In a whatever kind of irony.

(1st Draft of a new poem wrote at West End Writers, a new writing workshop at West End Library, Denton third thursday of each month)