They sleep only six hours
a night and sometimes
during that brief span
wake up in terror.
They get up and open a door
to breathe in the sky;
each morning their dogs
are glad to see them.
Some take aspirin
before they play tennis,
write wills
directing that their ashes
be spread on clay courts.
They have a lot to remember,
more than they have
to look forward to.
If in the church choir
they enter
one measure too early
on the Hallelujah Chorus,
they will not be
too embarrassed
because they know
they’ve done worse.
These men
put more and more
pepper on their potatoes,
jam on their toast.
