New Year Countdown

Side by side on Monobloc chairs,
my husband and I watch fireworks.

Around us, grandchildren scream,
point at the sky,
and jump up and down
in ecstasy, and in belief
that jumping at the stroke of twelve
on New Year’s Eve
makes you grow taller.

I’m happy,
but I’m too old to jump.

And after eighty-three years
of jumping at the stroke of twelve
on New Year’s Eve,
I should know now
that it doesn’t work.