Old Age

It was a misty-warm summer evening
As thick and sweet as honey.
The moon shone high,
Untouched by the wind.
The windchimes jingled softly
In their tuneless melody.
I sat, rocking on the porch swing
Occasionally getting up to dance
A jig or two with the radio
When the phone rang.
A cold, impersonal voice answered
Informing me of the advantages
Of owning a
Roto-Rooter.