Old age

I storm out of the door,
Late for an appointment with a student.
When I realize that time by habit,
Drifts faster than we can play catch up.
Birthdays now come so fast,
Aging is like a speedy morphing process,
When one year ends and a new one
Begins. And in this timescape,
Breaking down the minutes,
Is what will make us appreciate,
The tokens, those moments that lie
Naked for appreciation. Now
I look out of the window to see
Little myena birds peck around
For grub, my wife’s cellulite
Thighs in display, a book that reads
“wind in the willows” on the bed,
And all I can do, is to try and slow down time
On her heels, and look through
A convex lens, to see we are only
Foot soldiers of time, belligerent
Of everything fateful, trickling out
Like a creek, soothing the thirst
Of those dependent upon us. Time, always
Expedites everything mortal, like
The wrinkles on the face, the silver
Strands, and the frowning eyes,
In that never-ending tradition
Of space-mapped movements
Outpoured as anecdotes, holding
Our perishabilities on the tip
Of our noses, while we age in dog years
Waiting for fate to throw in a bone.

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