copyright Indira Mukherjee
One Last Ride
“Take your glaucoma medicine,” they said.
“Don’t overexert yourself,” they said.
I say, nuts to that! What golden future am I saving my strength for? I’m well over the hill and coasting fast towards the finish line, etched with a cold, hard epitaph. This is my car and I’ll take it for one last ride, damn it!
Only one good hip? Who cares! That’s one more than a cobra has and it’ll bite you in the ass if you don’t watch it. Don’t underestimate me just because I’m older than you.
Sirens. “Pull over!” they say.
Nuts to you, copper!
The Green-Walled Tower 