The Romance of Middle Age
Now that I’m fifty, let me take my showers at night …
Now that I’m fifty, let me take my showers at night …
The way the light and shadow / Go one with their tug-of-war …
If you give a government trapper /
a roadkill armadillo, /
he’s likely to take it home.
Twice a year the orphans come.
Like Job’s children, pawns in a bet
made with the Devil.
The mate in spandex straps us, front and back,
to flapping canvas sail and walks us backwards
to the speedboat’s slippery stern, back
to where the blue-green sea roils in the backwash.