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The Aged P 30/05/2001

He sways unsteadily where he stands
like a aged bar room drunkard,
but he's intoxicated by the liquor of life
not fashionable fermented cereals.

Outstretched limbs seek physical balance
to match the spiritual serenity
that he found many, many years ago.
A tightrope walker over the precipice
far too large and heavy to stand
as proud and erect as he once did.

Dandruff falls and drifts about his feet
where his skinny heirs gather
paying homage to his longevity,
while he stoops protectively over them
casting a dangerous, darkening shadow.

His very presence has now become
a thinly veiled threat of destruction.
Already he has disturbed the foundations
of our meagre, tidy little lives.

Euthanasia, everybody tells me,
is the only way. Fell this grand old man
with unconscionable modern machinery
and put him out of our misery,

and when he's dead and gone
the kids can count the rings for fun.
 
© Nicholas Vosper 2001