Recognition
Recognition
There I am again,
in the wall-size mirror
at the gym,
myself seeing myself,
a compulsion of sorts,
a checking-in
to see what has changed.
My bent and rotated spine
is always the same —
a very noticeable dog-leg
listing me to port.
There are those
who look at themselves
each morning in the mirror
and think,
“Damn, I look good.”
Perhaps the guy at the gym
with the triangular upper body
and tree-thick thighs does this,
but I don’t know him,
so he doesn’t count.
I don’t feel very old inside
except on cloudy, wet days.
My exterior says otherwise;
that doesn’t matter much now.
I know shadowy mortality
lies in wait. Occasionally
I hazard a quiet guess
about the time I have left,
a fruitless contemplation,
leading only to
gloom and foreboding.
Most often I move on
to meaningful pursuits:
driving much too fast,
eating ice cream,
making love,
writing and painting
to sustain my soul.
Some believe that one should,
"Live fast, die young,
leave a good-looking corpse."
I regret not living fast enough in my youth,
I’m thankful I’m not James Dean,
and ashes are only as beautiful
as the urn in which they are stored.
So, henceforth I shall marvel
at my visage in the mirror,
appreciating both my continued presence
and the elegant curve of my crookedness.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
