I am old now.
Lines crisscross my face
in no particular pattern
as if some half-crazed spider
forgot how to spin her web.
Each morning brings more bad news.
Sharon at 77
Just when I get used to the lines
burrowing deep within my jowls
giving me a Charlie McCarthy appearance,
age spots emerge from some hidden recess deep within me.
They dance across my face.
Out of place lines.
Out of place spots.
Out of place me.
Old on the outside.
Ageless, soaring, young
where my spirit lives.
Young inside my soul
where no man sees.
