When ever I feel old or tired (usually exhausted after a long flight and standing in line at customs — seriously, there is no weariness like the weariness found in airports.) There is a piece of The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock that floats up into my brain.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
And since it is my birthday today, I think I will cuff my pants and walk around confident that nobody will have any clue what’s going on.
Here’s another little age-related gem from Prufrock.
I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And, in short, I was afraid
And then you open the card and it says: Enjoy your birthday while it lasts. Love & Agnst T.S. Eliot. Hallmark woulda fired his melancholy ass on the spot.
e.e. cummings, also, would suck:
Old age sticks
up Keep
Off
signs) &
youth yanks them
down (old
age
cries No
Tres) & (pas)
youth laughs
(sing
old age
Scolds Forbid
den Stop
Must
n’t Don’t
&) youth goes
right on
gr
owing old
Inside it says: “Here’s to another year of hurtling recklessly toward death!”