An old man has invaded my gentle bones
Can’t he just go away?
And take his wretched Zimmer frame elsewhere?
I look at Stairlifts
And curse them with a petulant stamp
Of my old, gouty feet
Liverspots dance before my eyes
Like hallucinatory invitations to dementia
Oh, Saturn –
Can’t you give me a break?
I know I have the mind of an ancient
But must I have a body that feels the same way?
My beard is so long and wispy
That it keeps wrapping itself around my ankles –
Sometimes I tie the dog to it
And use it as a hairy leash
But I have no dog
He is just the ghost of a whimper
A final heaving groan
That I swept under my vomited-stained rug
Spending days and years
Out in the cold, wind, and rain
Who can blame my spine
For rearing up like a serpent
And looming above me
Ever ready to strike?
I might as well just walk to the morgue now
And save the hearse driver the effort
The mortician will look at me and say:
“Son, what are you doing here,
You’re only twenty-four?”
To which I will respond,
With a heavy, resigned smile:
“It’s such a lovely day:
I don’t mind waiting.”