This English grey
settles on me like the aging process
once here
reluctant to move on
like the many years passed
a grubby raincoat/ battered hat
hung up under the stairs
like me put aside
in need of IV sunlight
Supernova and Northern Lights
framed in my window
scuffed boot of the decades….
attic dust dislodged
swept away as memories
stuff my pockets with farewells
and the scraps of recollection
photos with curled edges
as shadows fall
peeling away like tree bark
listening to Ben Webster
I close my eyes the world races past
times athletic speed outpaces me
but I’m tucked up in yesterday
as if it were
a blanket and I was stitched in
chewing on the crust of yesteryear
my youth is a black and white movie
adulthood is technicolour
and a thousand
.
dawns each one brighter than the next
now twilight is as brittle as my skin
and the light in my eyes nothing
more now
than the death of an ember or the fading
of a gemstone telling tales of ageing
.
Malcolm Paul
Picture Nick Victor