55
for D.B.A.

always the dregs of herself and Sunday
what I am allowed, what is saved for me

are the dregs of myself what I offer up as well
offer her as well

what is left of the day, what is left of me
is it the best of me or what is worst
old and sick instead of young and strong

instead of lingering, hanging around
as swiftly as she alights
upon the limb that I am on,
flies up, flies off, in no time she is gone

I look older than I am
she let slip out the other day
and I was livid to know
she took such a look
she had such a view

my daughter who is 5' 4’’ though
she thought from her photographs
that she was more that 6 feet tall

is her judgment correct
I make no secret of my fear of death
or that I fear I'm dying

55 already when we met
inside this anatomy, this body of mine
to go about in
like an old watch or vehicle

it does not run like it used to
my legs nor my heart nor the organs which sit
which rest upon and within
the area formed by pelvic bones

my waist, my body's second floor
bones right about there, like rafters
like steel beams, built to last

I am nearly as old as this house I own
as this house I live in, built sometime
between when Cynthia and Kevin,
sister and brother whom I follow, were born
sometime between 1948 and 1952

does my age show like the age of my house
show of age is but one aspect
age to carry is another

and another day to add, to carry
until the minute that is added,
that is too much to bear
or even a split second added
and nothing left to do but collapse

like a camel or donkey which, though strong,
can hold, can carry but so much
and the legs like props, knocked out of place
or like table legs and that's that

that is where a story ends
how far am I from done with my days
or are my days from done with me

is this the time for sweet romance
or knowing that I am on the way out
going down like a ship, sinking, inevitable

does she see me as not sea worthy
unable to, once again, cross the Atlantic

my ocean-going days, like Columbus'
like Columbus' ships, over and done with

days of dining and dancing
on the deck of the Queen Mary, behind me

queen that she is or is she a princess
I want on a deck, wet with our juices

want her to be my queen of hearts
want to pluck her out of a deck of cards
want to pluck her like a chicken
want her clucking like a hen in heat
whatever befalls me- before it is all over

is twilight time not also called
that magical hour

am I past being able to woo her
I've written her several hundred poems
just to get to what base

am I on first yet or on second or third
what would it take to hit a home run

will fucking with a condom be my reward
I want to box with her with my gloves off

I always take them off to hold my pen
to write a poem, to sing her songs


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2011
7:46 p.m. 20.02.11