his old body melting
like a wax statue
in the sun
his voice
a ship’s horn
in a fog storm
inside both rings
of brows and bags
the eyes are dying
and with each pained shuffle
someone please get him a chair
sad to see God’s emissary
as miserable as those he blesses
so I wish him peace
rest and a little pea of joy
from my peashooter to land
on his crumbling pedestal
Commenti