Call me Sir

When I was a young man, I longed to be wiser,
when others would take me seriously, an increase in authority,
power I guess.

Now, I am older, a lot older, and others hold the door open,
call me “Sir”,
but I am more unhappy than ever about it.
For now the “sir” is with a little s,
infected with frailty,
“I’ve fallen and can’t get up” ads,
AARP cards land like AOL CDs in the 80s,
and most recently email deals on burial plots!

The inflection in the voice is now what I listen for,
Not the word “sir”.
Then I can tell, whether it’s fear, respect, love, sympathy,
or some combination of all in the verbal cocktail just delivered.
Yet, suddenly I realize, this does not matter but a jot.

For I am alive and God is watching over me.