Wednesday, 6 June 2012

if we were old men


If we were old men
We could spend rocking-chair afternoons
In a sediment of dust
Stroking immense beards of loam
The architecture of our bones defiled
By hideous skin
That never fit the shape of our dreams

The very old and the very young
Do not usually say much to each other
And everyone else is much too busy
So we could sit, gloaming in the shade
Quietly typing in our quiet old-man way
Horrible toes made monstrous with hornlike nails
Coiled talons of sciatica
Quietly, painfully typing
In our quiet old-man blogs

We could float in congealed dust and stale sunshine
Bog bodies in the anaesthetizing mud
Of soon to be forgotten
Pop-cultural references and punchlines
To jokes written to advertise obsolete products
We would be entirely free
To select the fibres we wished to drape ourselves in
And no one would notice when we slipped between the
Timbers of our rockers into
Peals of inexplicable laughter.

1 comment:

Anoopa Anand said...

This is so well done, JP.