When You're Old I

The calendar begins to laugh.
Objects in the rear view mirror
are minuscule compared to
the images you have on file.
Your tattoos have faded to
light grey, like the sky draining
from your eyes.
Why do you persist?

The uncoiling rope fascinates.
Each loop progressively smaller
and offering less, each bight
promising an ending.
Why go on? Pick a reason.
Call it perseverance.
Call it running out the clock.
Call it living in spite.