The Ceiling Fan poem.

THE CEILING FAN

I awaken with, "another day"
written on my lips.
I watch the turns of the ceiling fan
and wish that it would dip

around me with a whirling force
of energy and play.
My body knows the sting of age.
Another chronic day.

I feel the years bear down into
my muscles and my mind.
Residents of the "Fountain of Youth"
don't know they wait in line.

Those whose limbs are subtle
will forget the way they felt
when they look up at the ceiling fan
and see what years have dealt.

Janet Brice Parker, 2003