On the advice of old men

Old timers, some
wise, gasp and admit that
life goes by too fast. I tend to
believe them, so I thought
of a solution: I'll anticipate
the day
I die.

I remember when I was nine
and double digits seemed just
around the corner—only
it wasn't. Days
felt like weeks and weeks
dragged like months. Time
was on its own
watch.

So I stay up
late for death like a child
waiting for Santa
on Christmas Eve, knowing
that when my eyes finally close,
what creeps down the chimney
will have traded sack
for scythe and I won't be waking
up to presents
in the morning.