Getting On

2001

When we age
like leather, like paper
like lace falling gently apart
with wrinkles worn just like tattoos
skin showing badges of the heart-

Will we fall like tired leaves
into the pool of re-creation?
Waiting, listless, to come again
without a want, without temptation.

Or, throw some rocks into that pond,
Cold and smooth, like ice from glasses?
Spend all our time in jokes and joys
and make death come and get our asses.