Exempla of the Aged

 

   That Wisdom to know when to rise

is caught in shades, strong-armed by two fleshy feet

   that get up slowly, greet the light.

& hold derisively to the taffrails of a stormy Day

   There's no tabla or tabor but an ear-ringing;

& that ache at temples in cheap palliative out-

   doors where icy pale yellow straw

are beds, not graves.

   Degrading gloss of plastic

   patio seats, too, without flaming horses!

At first glance his face rising lowers towards

   Styrofoam cups; nose & chin moisten

heading for a ground far away from the rails & damp.

   The cheeks are cracked flowerpots.

If anyone sees 'em when he tries to go, it's welcome

   relief from leggy shades round him.

If ever a heavy forearm makes a start, it's rebel angel

   wing of eighty or so that slowly tears him

from his toast.

He may even find there some bold fixity,
   with crumbs on lips & crumpled chin,

and can thank himself for it & "a word with you"
   would be enough.

 But if "no one's

heard me, it's been quiet at least" because "he's wise

   who knows when it's time to rise".