Monday, February 22, 2016

Sixty-One by Doug Anderson

                      Catfish is Mr. Death, sneaking up on my Monster High Doll. :-)


By Doug Anderson

Fifty was poignant, heavy pear 
departs the tree and the poem 
a sigh between branch and mulch. 
But no more. Another decade, 
I’m all song and scruff, 
the mind’s hot wire threading joint to joint. 
I’ll tell you straight out what I think, 
no sweetener. Nor has Aphrodite left me 
collapsed in a stairwell 
and don’t you father-flirt me, girl. 
This morning the world unbelts her robe, 
rose fleshed and randy. 
I like the rats that skitter 
under the subway’s hot rails.   
The little black dog 
who’s afraid of no one, 
not even the dope dealer’s pitbulls.   
Montaigne said sickness 
is God’s way of weaning us from life 
but I don’t think yet. I like the way 
soul clings to gristle like a newspaper 
wrapped around a light pole in a storm. 
Death’s a street away 
walking parallel and at my pace. He gets a nod.

Doug Anderson, “Sixty One” from Cry Wolf. Copyright © 2008 by Doug Anderson.


Kelly said...

I love that photo!!

quid said...

Love the poem. Sixty One. Sigh. We're there, girl.