Behind the door,
Lay your shattered tears in seafloor,
Pardon my betrayal outdoor,
My heart wandered away indoor,
Through the trap door,
Never let this guy indoor,
She recalled his spoor,
Washing the floor,
Broken doorknobs,
A love stopped to a hidden doorsill,
He laments in the dooryard.
Doorways dispersed the doorstops...
Crying her heart, a home withoutdoors,
Dead as a doornail...
Old age has changed the nature of my chores
replacing doorstops – holding open doors
or when the joy of shopping slowly flags
I stand with other men – just holding bags
We dine – I weigh the cost of cold French fries
and order well done burgers – children’s size
for something’s gone awry within the loop
that schedules when and where I’ll have to poop.
It seems I live a life somehow gone placid
along with once taut muscles now gone flaccid
Yet still I fight the battle – break the rules
for still I feed myself – tie my own shoes.
So if you’re young and strutting through your prime
please, take a hint and cherish all such time
while your on the quest for more and more
take heed for age has a trap door.
John G. Lawless
©10/15/2019
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