A caravan of hats,

slumped down

in fat Cadillacs,

drive down I-95

baking old bones

in a blazing sun.

Tremulous hands

grip the wheel.

A slow procession

zigzags and clunks

like bumper cars.

One old hat

calls himself Captain,

drenches his crotch,

defying wife’s order

to stop at the next

gas station.

Like old elephants

heading for a graveyard,

they plod along

to Century Village,

believing the ad:

We give years to your life,

And life to your years.