Sometimes I think I must be aging backwards Like that guy in the movies, and if I’m right You may begin to recognize me in a few years Not that I’ve changed all that much – no, really! – Bear witness to the fact that my skin has a softer Glow, I’m sure that’s so, not that anyone’s had An occasion to know, not lately, mostly keeping Their distance and all, thanks to the pan-dimmy; You might say I’m in the pink. And I know I’ve got More hair than I did last year. Not particularly long But longish and that’s saying a lot given all the fur I’ve seen circle the drain. My nipples are receding; There, I said it, you can tell from all the pix we took Last year in lockdown. Not exactly wasting away In Margaritaville, but a damn sight less retroussé Than they were in the past. I like the way they Set off that badge-like protuberance on my chest And even badge-y is wont to be sounding a retreat These days. I’m aging backwards, I think. Can’t prove it But give me some time and you’ll see it for yourself: Now, I don’t like to go all Brad Pitt on you but I’m still planning to leave behind me one hell of a Good-looking corpse (God willing and the creek); At 70-some years, a Bieber-boy in progress, retro- Mummified and living off the fat (back) of the land – Hell, I’m living proof that longevity is its own Reward, even if the end turns out to be grave-y.
Dr. Alan Hickman is a poet and essayist who has been teaching English literature and composition at the American University in Dubai for the past seven years. His interests are music, film, and travel. He received his PhD in English from the University of Arkansas in 1990.