aren't we cranky today?

i used to be young

she says to me, wistfully,
as we stand at the bus
stop

waiting for the cross town A-1
to take us

to Farragut square.

me too, i tell her, looking into
her ice blue eyes, me too.
funny how time goes by, isn't it.

it's not funny, she says.
not funny at all.

well, i don't mean funny in a
Rodney Dangerfield sort of way.

i mean funny in the sense of
feeling odd about getting older
when you feel so young at heart.

the hair turning grey, wrinkles,
all that good stuff. aches and pains.

she looks at me and shakes her
head.
are you on something she says?
you're scaring me.

please don't sit next to me
on the bus. you men are all alike,
you just want one thing.

well, aren't we cranky today,
i say to her.

yes, i am cranky, she says,
raising her
umbrella to possible strike
me. of course i'm cranky,
i'm old, my leg hurts, all
nineteen of my cats
are sick,

and i'm
standing here in the rain

waiting for the bus to come
and talking to the likes of you.