Reaching Seventy

Reaching Seventy
by
Tom Roach

Seventy
what an age
I am a knotty pine

my grandmother’s
ornaments hung
bobbing, swinging
from her eyelids
with every twist

One of mine
will
excrete water
if I stand
triangular
and wait...
patiently

SEX?
Oh come on!
an ancient ghost
might stir a timber
to inhabit
a dream
(note to self: very, very rarely)

De rigeur
visits to a
dermatologist
“I can remove”
she says
“for forty dollars
and your face
will look younger”

I pay
the price of vanity
and for the
frostbite scar
to heal
I wait...
patiently