Not much to say after so many years
grooming for the sickle and bone.
Three years of throwing lead and shooting pool,
enough beer to tank the English navy,
I sit beneath this tree, tongue tied and breathing
like a fifties iron lung perched
next to a Red Cross sign
swinging like two bulbous breasts in a hot breath breeze.
Youth laugh like life is forever.
You and I know life is only a Monarch
chasing time through a lovely flower garden.