Low Battery

 

My battery is failing gradually: not 

all at once with a sudden, silent stop

but blinkingly, haltingly, bit by bit …

interrupting itself with sudden (brief)

upsurges of vigour, effervescence, life.

Life is a long journey of body and mind

if we’re lucky and don’t lose it early –

though some might think that fortunate,

whose lives are painful, restricted, sad.

Mine’s been long, and mostly good.

But where in the body is the battery? 

Which organ houses my get-up-and-go, 

my being on? What is my source 

of vital energy? Can’t be the brain: 

that’s not failing, not seriously yet. 

But the body limps, hunches, hesitates,

has become reluctant to move forward

into all its many responsibilities

(except the ones involving sitting,

such as writing this, or any poem).

I rule out the heart. Also the intricate

digestive bits. The doctors have got them 

well controlled with medications, all

functioning as well or better than before –

except for the gall bladder: disabled.

Oh, and the tonsils, long gone. Otherwise 

I’m intact. Er, well, that word suggests

the sexual. I’m not of course intact

in that way, not since my twenties. So now

at 85, I can answer a famous question.

When does desire stop? Truthfully,

my answer is the same as that legendary

French countess (whose name 

I forget!) who said, ‘You must ask

someone else. I am only 72.’

But at 85 I can tell you: though desire 

is not gone exactly, it has reduced. 

It has slowed, eased off, become less

urgent, intractable, fierce … just like 

my whole physicality… Ah, so that’s it!

Written for Friday Writings 150: Low Battery at Poets and Storytellers United.