365 Poems – 146 Old Age (Rough First Draft)

 

Old Age

 

Television became

an automatic thing a

long time ago, before

veins in my right leg

started to burn and hurt.

 

While all this nothing

is going on, I have to wait.

I’m somebody else who’s too old.  

 

We used to have each other.

You would grab my tears before

they had made silver trails.

 

Then, for a long time, you couldn’t

reach. You could only watch,

and wait for them to dry on my face.

 

It’s the weirdest feeling,

old age, I can’t lie.

 

At first, when the realisation

you’re never going back

hits you, you freeze,

and it’s all death

and nightmares.

 

I’m just a piece of human.

 

Once upon a time, the world

was wide open, and I tried to grab

everything, but it was never enough.

 

My heart was left on

countless kitchen floors.  

 

He’s here now, Death. It’s like

his presence is absolutely ordinary.

 

Once, a long time ago,

I thought about killing myself,

by making a noose with

my own hair.

 

Then, the next day, there was

your face, the mountains,

air tasted so clean.

 

I remember pulling in all directions,

so I could make the most

of every bit of sunlight.

 

This body was a hot, beautiful, vessel.

 

I tear bread on my own, but even

that is becoming too much now,

and Death has started to sit with me

at my table.

 

 

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