Middle Age
Ah, the middle age where I
Can find excuse. No one now
Will test me to ride the wild horse.
No one will offer the fat udder
For the order of disciples.
No one will expect that I
Should leave my seat and stir
The hissing embers.
Ah, the middle age where I
Can heal from inflicted justice.
No one now will place my weight
On the several social scales.
No one now will sniff my excrement
And be duly appalled,
Nor will they obligate
With tears and flowers.
Copyright © Jerrell Jones | Year Posted 2015
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