Poetry Friday: “Old Man Eating Alone in a Chinese Restaurant” by Billy Collins (and other thoughts on aging)

Last week, Tabatha, who happens to be the host of today’s Poetry Friday round-up, mentioned the poem she once wrote for me during a Summer Poem Swap. She touched and delighted me with “Imaginary Billy and I Discuss the Founding Documents.” And since I’m always delighted by the charming Mr. Collins, and since I’m working my way through one of his books for my morning poetry reading, it's only fitting that I share another bit of Billy for this week’s post. 

This one makes me think about how much we get wrong about “old people.” The older I get, the more I see (and experience for myself) the way we lump people of a certain age into a supposedly homogenous group. Elderly. Aged. Retired. Senior citizen. 

From my own experience of getting older, I know that “old people” are just people. People who have been on the planet for a particular amount of time. People who are funny, interesting, boring, grumpy, effervescent, insightful, ignorant, and all manner of wide-ranging personalities. They are people whose bodies keep surprising and betraying them, and believe me, they don’t like it anymore than anyone else does. (Not that I’d know this from personal experience, except, yes, I know this from personal experience.) In August of 2022, when we adopted our kitty, Maisy, the young woman at the animal shelter said, “And since you are over 60, you get the ‘elderly discount’ on the adoption fee.” This is me in 2022: 

And this was my expression when she told me I was elderly: 

I hadn’t felt that old since 2008, when Ramona was five years old and I shared this blog post: 

Anyway. 

I’ll grant you that my hair has gotten grayer in the last three years (what is with that hair at our temples?!) since that visit to the animal shelter, though I still don’t dye it as I’ve always thought coloring it would be too much trouble. But I still don’t feel elderly. I’m like the old man in the Chinese restaurant that Charming Billy introduces us to in this poem. For the most part, I’m livin’ my best life. 

Old Man Eating Alone in a Chinese Restaurant
by Billy Collins 

I am glad I resisted the temptation,
if it was a temptation when I was young,
to write a poem about an old man
eating alone at a corner table in a Chinese restaurant.

I would have gotten it all wrong
thinking: the poor bastard, not a friend in the world
and with only a book for a companion.
He'll probably pay the bill out of a change purse.

So glad I waited all these decades
to record how hot and sour the hot and sour
soup is here at Chang's this afternoon
and how cold the Chinese beer in a frosted glass.

….

(Read the rest here, at The Poetry Foundation.)

~~~~~~~~~~

Visit Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference for the full round-up of poetic goodness this week.