older


if there were great expectations

what is expected of us old
which
I’m still trying
to tell
(both kinds
of
telling)
because the line in me goes back
to childhood
with what is remembered
keenly felt
too
often

against which
I think I am supposed to be invisible
by
youthful society
of all those whippersnappers
who
don’t know
I think I’m pushed to say
how good
things are for them

yet they might know
while
I have some whipping
(unliteral but
sharp)
and some
(whatever)
snapping still to
snap

new robes of office
like those honestly
wary
by the lords in Macbeth
or
the pretending gift of Medea’s
poisoned cloak
that
once worn bursts in flame
for
all our sins
piled on to curse

to prove energy
though
delight can become danger
when
expended

if like the artist
no longer young yet
working out
significance in what is now
(again
obliged)
the dry time of
the day

so then try
untry
if not unfeared the journey not
untrapped
by who is the child
who
is older

c l couch


photo by Lisa Yount on Unsplash
[still wanting to fly]

The Prophet in the Last Days

I don’t know how to be at peace this
Side of the grave
Plus
I don’t know what happens
Over there

Everything I’ve tried has
Collapsed
Or imploded into war

It doesn’t help that I’m poor
Disabled
Older

All good reasons for society to render me
Invisible

What do I deserve
But nothing
Even less

Patronized at best
Cheated some
More
At worst

Well
Killed
At worst
I guess
Though it can happen by small
Accumulating
Wounds
As is

What shall I do
Who may I be

Where is the substance for the inside and
The outside
Which
I may not know and certainly not have to
Taste and see
Before the end

And so live
Frustrated
Hurt
The bleeding never over
And never having anything like
Peace prevailed

C L Couch

Photo by Irham Setyaki on Unsplash