Don't Get Old

Some stars have fallen
from the sky of late.
Their names are
in the paper,
not the real paper,
but the rag at the front
of the grocery line.
Whether it's from greed
or lust, drugs or drink,
they have fallen
just like you and me,
but they have fallen
further and harder
than we ever could.
For they had it all.
Or so we'd like to believe.
The caviar, the cashmere,
the yachts, the Bentley
and the champagne,
the glory of fame.
But look at them now.
In nursing homes,
old and frail
with surgeries gone bad,
skin pulled back tight
like rhesus monkeys
swinging from chinaberry
trees. In rehab
and on tv, talking to oprah
and dr. phil, spilling
their guts. The mug shots,
blocking the cameras
with their hands clutching
confessional books.
There they are
in slow motion
in the back of a squad car.
But it's not over,
there is always a second act,
another chance.
It's America.
Television will scrub
them clean, wash them up,
make them whole again,
put them back together
for our viewing pleasure.