By the time I approached, she must have
seen the article saying she’d turned back
Time’s hands taking The Millrose Mile.
Did she imagine me a Mephisto, ready now
to bargain or collect: my beard so white,
my parka hood half off my graying head?
As I asked for an autograph, did she wonder
why I had not presented a sheet of parchment
instead of a ragged envelope sheathing
my last rejection slip?
Was this a contract that signed would halt the years
from tampering with her limbs, or strike her dead?
Halfway to victory in the 1500 at the Georgia
Dome, did she recall how relieved she’d been
when I’d given her my sawed-off
OTB pencil instead of a quill?
About the contributor: Thomas M. McDade is a 73-year-old resident of Fredericksburg, VA, previously CT & RI. McDade is twice a U.S. Navy Veteran serving ashore at the Fleet Anti-Air Warfare Training Center, Virginia Beach, VA and at sea aboard the USS Mullinnix (DD-944) and USS Miller (DE/FF 1091).