Old Man's Hands
They were once fine,
long-fingered and aristocratic:
photographed resting lightly
on a model's shoulder
as she wore a mink
while clutching a Gucci.
In childhood they played
like all kids' hands play:
clutching, grabbing, throwing,
waving to unseen allies
while fighting to a gory death
hordes of relentless foes.
In manhood they sought
to caress a woman's flesh
rather than play throw and catch...
they explored the wondrous nooks
and crannies with hunger and hesitancy,
always joyfully losing themselves
in her eternal unknowingness.
They were mighty then,
the hands of a young god,
giving pleasure in equal measure
to its taking...
but now their skin lies cracked and
shrieking of seven decades--
the fingers are bending like old trees
succumbing finally to the brutal wind,
with knobs sprouting from joints
and a low pain taking up a permanent
and most uninvited residence....
Copyright © L. J. Carber | Year Posted 2015
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