Being in My Sixties

This new year the numerals don’t make sense.
The sixties were just the other day.

In all the films, the sixties soundtrack plays great rock.
But I remember Ms Atwell and Mrs Mills
With dreary, happy tunes and crooners too.
The Beatles came as a glad shock.
The world now was an open door.
We knew we could go through it.

My father’s years were far more distant
At least two hundred, maybe more.
His ‘now’ a foreign land. In black and white
And faded colours too.

This current ‘now’ seems so strange.
The new doubts and new certainties
Leave me sad and insecure.