Thinking about the recent passing of friends and staring down my upcoming birthday on April 13th, a list of my own personal vulnerabilities, aches, and stumbles pushed through the fog with taunting echoes of OLD AGE and the all too familiar question of how exactly time flies. The following words fell out of my reverie and assembled themselves on a page. There may be more but I haven’t seen (or dreamed) them yet.
DANGER ZONE
Brady’s eighty
Feeling weighty
Skull bulb’s dim
Motivation’s slim
Hair’s caught leaving
Heart’s still grieving
Wrinkles line up
Like ropes in a cup
Covid’s in the air
Insects do not care
Clock hands spinning
Like props on a plane
slicing through memories
On the flight to my brain