Saturday, September 27, 2014

A Certain Age



Random late September apples thud into the yard 
while the garbage truck, dressed in its squeaky brakes,
grazes down our street, stop after stop.
Early walking voices from the sidewalk 
slowly fade away.

The sun finally climbs though my window
and stretches out 

across the morning wall.

It seems to yell, " I'm back, did you miss me?"

at the top of its lungs.
I am never really ready for it.


My sleepless shoulders 
have tossed since 4am
but I did not give in. My conscription number 
to an age that rises extra early
only to water the yard
has not yet been called.

I see it coming though, wearing 

it's Members Only jacket of repeated stories, 
monochrome memory and dank gray hair.

Some days as I wander towards the comics
it stares back at me from the obituaries
with an, almost, unintentional gaze.

The projector whirs through action and not, 
past all the cameo's and out-takes
of my starring role so criminally short.
  

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