by Kat Seidemann
Old Man–
Your white fleece has marked you
with time’s swift lip prints—
your kiss good bye.
No matter how fastidious your grooming
nor how strong is your heart
your placid days are limited
(You have us to thank for this)
You amble pale, glossy floors
passing or meeting
other slick silvered brethren
all destined for demise.
As hoarfrost carpets thaw
your journey becomes tremulous.
Should you leave your bitter home
in search of sustenance or succor
avoid wandering near us,
you bring us terror–
reminding us of our own frailty
and our responsibility
for your quickened end
We trespass and hope to plunder
the precious inheritance
hidden beneath your frosty floorboards
while you still exist–
but out of sight and if possible
out of mind.
Forget your glamour, your grace,
your fine adaptability, forget
the ferocious care of your young.
Accept that the ground is no longer
stable beneath your pace.
Allow yourself to slide into
the torrid waters of your last days.
You have us to thank for this
