Getting Old

By | 1 February 2016

You make a sound as if to say—Land Ahoy
A cabin boy claiming first sight
A ship nearing the oh so distant shore
Magpie rattle in the shushing pines
Then the trill of laughing warblers
Thin bones with all the trimmings
Getting about with a stick tap taps
Another day getting short
You make a small noise like clearing
a throat or a twig cracking underfoot
Here comes the night frame
You know why children do not want
to grow up
You adjust your spectacles
You adjust your backside on the hard
wooden seat as the seagull settles
on the wooden rail enchanting or
infuriating You make a
sound to unwelcome the
gull It looks at you with perfect
eyesight and youthful pleasure
A splendid red beak and legs
Eyes oh so round
and perfectly drawn
Ignores your gruff exhalation
And you are yet to tinker with imperfection
And to leave a laden heart

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