A tweaked-up knee, a darkened stair,
a midnight curse, a silent prayer.
You missed the pill, you skipped the dose,
and now painsomnia lingers close.
It takes the stage, demands applause,
ignoring all good sleeping laws.
An encore act you didn't book,
yet there it stands with a knowing look.
So leave the bed. Abandon sleep.
This night's ambitions clearly run deep.
Head to the kitchen, calm and slow,
where fellow insomniacs often go.
Pour up some ice. Pour up some tea.
Negotiate terms with that mutinous knee.
Then grab the AARP, my friend,
a source of wisdom without end.
Forget the phone, the screen, the glare.
An actual magazine waits there!
While others toss and curse the night,
you're being educated outright.
You'll learn of diamond intersections,
and proper seatbelt inspections.
You'll master how a roundabout
can smooth your traffic stresses out.
You'll discover how to safely share. narrow lanes with cyclists there.
And, best of all, the crown jewel still:
the proper hand grip/steering-wheel tilt and angle.
Adjust it just so, left and right,
to spare your face in an airbag flight.
Who knew an aching joint could bring,
such useful automotive tutoring?
What started as a swollen knee
became a graduate degree.
I'll leave you here to contemplate
the many steps that age creates:
the pills, the aches, the midnight quests,
the magazines we once called "rests."
Perhaps aging well is not a race
but learning all these things with grace.
