poem

 StasisMy toenails have stoppedGrowing.  I haven ’t had to trim Them in months. I ’m afraidTo show my feet. An old manWalking in shoes on the beach.My hair has becomeThis ridiculous wig. I avoidEye contact when I seeThe barber out and about.Let him shop for Peppers and onions without The shame of betrayal.I ’m afraid this is howIt all starts. Send inA mortician now. Do me the way They left my GrandmaIzzy, all waxed and ghastly.Plasticky. It wasn't her anymore.Everything must stop,That ’s clear enough.But why so soon?Let my hair go grayLet me become a bit nicer Learn to play a harmonicaAnother hour to see what happensIn undiscovered places of wonder.We ’re all changing togetherAnd so everyone stays the same Once I'm completely immutable,And you ’ve all passed onInto third and fourth derivative patterns,I ’ll remain. Congealed into a final State of ridiculous grotesquerieWith no one there to recognize me.11/24/21
Source: Buckeye Surgeon - Category: Surgery Authors: Source Type: blogs