Poetry: Morning Pep Talk

They can’t all be happy ones! This one was written almost a decade ago. Time marches on. – CT

“Morning Pep Talk”

 

I am old and fat and slow.

Even the breath leaving this body is stale,

leached of life by its torturous climb

from the flesh cavity of my chest,

up the worn trachea,

and into a mouth clinging to its teeth

like a shipwrecked sailor to driftwood.

My neck protrudes

from slumped shoulders

at an angle of forty-five degrees.

I am forever peering up and over

a wall that is not there.

The bones of my face lurk quietly

beneath layers of flesh, like reefs below the sea-line,

waiting for the moment, any moment,

when they might

make themselves known.

My eyes are a worn and faded blue,

of far less interest than the circles beneath,

dark slashes of shadow so deep

that the world once tumbled into them

and was never seen again.

I am old and getting older.

I am fat and getting fatter.

Time rests her weary head upon my shoulder;

she leads me deeper

into darkness.