Wednesday, November 24, 2021

poem

 Stasis

My toenails have stopped

Growing.  I haven’t had to trim 

Them in months. I’m afraid

To show my feet. An old man

Walking in shoes on the beach.


My hair has become

This ridiculous wig. I avoid

Eye contact when I see

The barber out and about.

Let him shop for 

Peppers and onions without 

The shame of betrayal.


I’m afraid this is how

It all starts. Send in

A mortician now. Do me the way 

They left my Grandma

Izzy, all waxed and ghastly.

Plasticky. It wasn't her anymore.


Everything must stop,

That’s clear enough.

But why so soon?

Let my hair go gray

Let me become a bit nicer 

Learn to play a harmonica

Another hour to see what happens

In undiscovered places of wonder.


We’re all changing together

And so everyone stays the same 


Once I'm completely immutable,

And you’ve all passed on

Into third and fourth derivative patterns,

I’ll remain. Congealed into a final 

State of ridiculous grotesquerie

With no one there to recognize me.


11/24/21

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