Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Old Man's Face
Drawing by Leonardo Di Vinci
Old Man’s Face
The old man’s face creases like crumpled paper.
There are words between the lines
but they make no sound when read. The smell
of salt. The taste of cologne and feces. His hands
scrape your arm like fingers on stained glass
as he tries to catch your attention. I am that man.
This is my face, dripping hairs, graying
in the fading light. Delilah couldn’t bring me
to the library anymore. Delilah won’t
save me. She’s got to take the kids to soccer. I
am not that man. How could I be?
The long end of day stumbles just
as it crests the hill for all to see. I am not
dead. I will not die. There’s too much to do.
Delilah, forgive me all my foolish trespasses,
the time I farted in bed and held the covers over
your head. The skin of my face doesn’t hang, it
expands, balloon-fat and soft. It fills with helium
so my thoughts drift ever upward.
Posted over on Carcinogenic Poetry