This poem has been selected for publication in The Hyphen Literary and Art Magazine.
“Like Dust: Part 1”
On an old man’s sweatersweatersweatersweater
Had it so many years
It’s seen so many things,
Buttons buttoned in better times,
Lithe young bones set right
Disjoint feel-joint conjoined lives,
Now she’s gone.
But her perfume he can still faintly smell on the lapel,
Young, beautiful, out of control,
A pipe with sewage and sparkling water bursting
With love they held each other in the evenings,
Six pence for a pie, sir,
But no one uses pence or pennies anymore.
Soon, he thinks, I’ll be the dust on a sweater,
No more, no less, for worse or better,
He’d recited his vows backwards,
Like love had come dyslexic through his teeth
Conjoin, our loins
In holy matrimony.
He puts the sweater on his back
Aching, aching, stoop like turtle
It’s warm, it smells of her,
It makes him feel a little bit younger.
Old man with a head full of memories going to black
Head-set with a bald head and no tattoos,
Though he’d thought of getting one when he met her,
Finding his woman in a sweater he hasn’t worn in fifteen years!
Nostalgia worsens with age, they say,
Just like your back.