Time creeps up on us ever so slowly
Snatching up our youth and vigor,
Sometimes making us feel so lowly
Hence our Bentwood and our liquor.
Time went faster looking back on
Recalling those bygone days of bliss,
Only today, since yesterday is gone
Hungering for just that one more kiss.
Written June 13, 2022
The House is full of stuff my husband saves;
A pair of bentwood rockers, goose-neck armed.
His grandparents sat in these, discordant creaks
Punctuating arguments. No one sits there now.
There where they are we do not need the chairs
Nor the table with the wobbly center post.
The sewing machine, treddle run, would work
But belts and bobbins no longer can be found.
The old piano, a gift from grandma for a child
Who thought he’d learn to play. He never did,
The keys are out of tune, but the wood--
The curly maple keeps its seasoned glow.
A hundred other things that take up space
Flowered lamps, a bowl back mandalin.
Newer things would go there just as well,
We only keep them for the tales they tell.
Barbie pink with buxom breast
Spread across a bony chest
Thus recline on bentwood chair
As she unfurls her blended hair
A passer by
A darker night
A fleeting thought
A fairer sight
Marble eyes with curled strong lash
Stare glazed as plastic living naught
Wander him across the street
Breeze on skin this night has brought
A corner turn
A friend to greet
A moment in this life to cheat
Who will occupy that chair when Barbie pink’s no longer there?
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