The Older Gentleman in the Corner

It’s not the rude descriptions
That startle you at some point
On longevity’s road—

It’s the ones striving to be polite
Even when out of earshot.
Given all the socially

Salient data manifest
On your surfaces—clothing,
Coloring, grooming (or lack),

Stature (also lack), crooked,
Asymmetrical framework,
Black crutches, etc.,

Or whatever such may be
In your case, eventually,
The appearance of aging

Will trump all else for strangers,
At which point you ask yourself,
Do all souls become the same,

Or is there no other trait
More important we can share?
The ancient are ancient first.

Nothing Is in Such a Hurry as a Dead Herring

Mind is working hurriedly
To gut the brain, salt it
With words to preserve it.

The raw wounds spoil in minutes,
And the entrails already
Begin to stink in their heaps.

In an instant it could all
Go back to nothing but flesh,
Ecosystem for microbes,

But with enough words in it,
Properly dried on the rack,
You could chew on its ideas

All through the longest winter,
Subsist on it through the night.

To Be Sure

Believe in things

You know happen

Whether or not

You want them to.

It’s a harsh rule.

Belief exists,

If you’re honest,

As an extra.

No one asks you

If you believe

In what happens

All experience.

Belief is for

The things you want

To be true but

Are never sure.