Aging Poems

The weary eye of the connoisseur

Rests with jaded appreciation,

Comfortable on the ever-shifting border

Between lust and aesthetics.

*

Hot heavy August air

Wet breasts

Sticky thighs

Summers layered in memory

Melting

One sigh into another

Attics, beaches, newly mowed lawns

Warm winds through dried leaves

Late afternoon dream naps.

*

jell-o knees and oatmeal belly

cracky peely wheely skin

still lusting after

this and that

that leads nowhere

and this leads back home.

*

The days are quick. Click. Click.

Like channel surfing:

There/not really/barely/not.

Flick. Flick.

That’s interesting/isn’t it?

What was it/not sure

Not sure/at all.

I would like to know

Now and then

How So and So

Is doing.

Ever married? Who?

Any kids?

Still drinking? Still a teacher?

Still

An asshole?

Let it go,

We’ll never know.

*

My feet are tangled, my words are too

I’m getting pretty old, but I’m feeling kind of new

Cracked skin, grey hair, milky tea,

is that old man really me?

*

Got to catch my breath, got to ease my brain

It might just snow, but it’ll probably rain

I haven’t been alone, I’m happy to say

Been dancing with my darlin’ all the way