Spent Time

I have spent
time doing
nothing but ageing.

None of me moves,
but I watch and feel freckles

I see eyes cloud to some
glaucomatous milk, unwillingly
losing spark,

thoughts now trail off in the inner ether.
Never spoken.

I pull at the reluctant skin
on the hand’s back.
It has no thought of returning.
Having exhausted itself on the journey
it peaks in the pinches’ fold.
Eventually dying back to shape.

It occurs to me I could do all this
whilst reading, and I decide to make some tea.


2 thoughts on “Spent Time

  1. This may be the best poem on aging that was ever written.
    Aging is no country for old men…that’s sure. The slow and steady process of physical decline doesn’t exactly consult us, or rock us to sleep, but in the ephemera, the tea and the book float us through time and space. Here we are.

    • Yes, here we are Toni, for now. Now. Thank you for reading and feeling this. It’s trying to get the balance, the flux, between the living and the entropy, what to notice, what to represent and what to hint at. I’m so glad this worked for ye.

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