you know the old horse in the barn with the easy-to-reach oats in a bag, comfortable bed of hay refillable trough of fresh water and a view from the stall to the fenced acres it once ran, sometimes bound with the wish of escape, of freedom, now content to chew hay or wait for the sun to come ‘round, lock joints for a standing snooze or fold down for a deeper nap   and then there’s Gracie on the sofa, who watches me approach, leash in hand   lowers her head closes her eyes

today, it’s the dead nail on my big toe and knowing my life is nearing its end,   mingled with how much pain my future might hold and how alone I could be   I also lug around a nice wardrobe of hope and carry a bag of humor to hand out so, there is still plenty of good life left in these legs and this heart   maybe it’s just that skeleton of keratin I see every time I remove my socks, which is yet to be removed and buried, that has me thinking about its unscheduled funeral  

from across the street you suddenly look up, startled to see someone attractive staring back   isn’t your first thought, is that for me?   so you stand a little taller straighten the posture, puff up the chest take a few strides   before you look over to see them, head down and fast walking away,   now in doubt about your first assumption   and wondering why you didn’t smile but presented a deer in headlights,   mouth open with that stupid, huh? plastered over your face