accepting,
with what grace I can muster,

the graying beard,
the hairline in retreat,
the paunch that is perfectly happy
     staying put thank you very much.

the unsettling awareness
that a reversal has occurred.

that, with increasing probability—
we’re talking about a simple statistical fact—
the next person I meet
     and the next
     and the next
     and the next
will possess more youth than I.

remembering, too,
with a grief that gives way to gratitude,
the unknowable number
of men
like me
who never enjoyed the privilege
of a graying beard.