My parents have a large cupboard
Next to their dinner table.
It has old lamps, albums, pans and pots,
Unused electrical equipment,
And one or two waffle irons.
These days they are repairing it,
After the termites ate the back boards,
That were holding it all together, like a spine.
Now the cupboard has only
Mahogany doors and spacious compartments,
Like my existence is, in the present, my backbone feebler
Than ever, stuffing my lips, with my wife’s mouth,
Reminding myself that the cupboard
Is filled with all sorts of useful things
That time, even with her termite jaws,
Can never crumble to dust.
