Skimming around the radio dial
I catch John Cougar Mellencamp
growling about R O C K in the USA,
and I sing along out of habit,
not necessarily out of joy,
the words and the rhythm
still immediately available,
though I can’t recall
what my son and I said
to each other just yesterday.
Crazy what sticks with us.
And you, John Cougar, what
ever happened to you
and your too tight blue jeans
and your bad boy smile?
It is hard to picture you
with gray hair and baggy pants,
drinking vanilla Ensure.
Rather, perhaps, to hear
that you flamed out in glory
instead of slowly getting old
like the rest of us.
Don’t get me wrong,
I feel lucky to get old,
to recognize less every day
the woman in the mirror.
I feel lucky to drive past little pink houses
and sing to my kids the refrain
of a song I once knew.
I feel lucky to do the slow, inconvenient
work of healing and loving.
I guess, John, what I am saying
is that it’s hard to see a shining thing
diminished, though I know, of course,
that all things end.
Perhaps, if you were sitting here
beside me in the car right now
you would tell me the real story—
how the work of our heart changes,
how there are many ways to shine,
how even the loudest rockers know that sometimes
the best endings are quiet,
that way you can make the listener lean in
to hear the last tender lines.
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