A decrepit self

Senior sheets in the closet
have their crispness lost,
mature towels
worn down to 300 gsm.

Aged, and yet,
they feel soft
when they wrap
the nakedness underneath.

It is such a pleasure
to have few things
loved and well used.

Perhaps, someone thinks
the same
for my decrepit self.

Existential crisis - which way to go?

Emerged in the sunlight
from the depths
of the London underground.

Don’t know
to go left
or to go right.

Which way is the alley
to the Café SoulDelite?

Botox

It is merely a temporary fix.

There is an Inevitability
to the wrinkles;
they march incessantly
shrouded in the darkness
of night;

like ants
for a speck of grain
on the floor.

Botox,
try, but you cannot dupe
ticking of clocks.

Hurricane Ian...

 …is coming.

Shelves in the aisle one
are empty
of artisanal water
even this far away
out of the widening cone
of future worlds.

Death …
…is coming,
ever so certain
and yet...

...there are no takers
to buy the
holy waters;

their bottles sit
forlorn, gathering dust.