What was free now carries a cost
and I have no money to pay,
that account dried up a long time ago,
the last time I thought I was young

Now grandfather clocks know me by name,
chiming in their opinion,
pointing fingers in every direction,
signaling each passing hour like it is a celebration

Waking me from a peaceful moment
while an insulting dawn
hidden behind dark raspberry clouds
sings, “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone”

I see sunflowers staring through shutters
wondering why as
tear drops collect on their seeded faces,
salting their very existence

So I write out the reason
in the dust on this end table
Finger marks cutting through the dirt
that has gathered, forgotten and reminded

No poetry in those words, that has left me too,
my pen now passed on to someone “younger”
playing hopscotch and drinking cherry cola
stealing her heart as I

Fall into the unmade bed
where pillows are my only friends
Covering up...trying to hide from
the truth that scares me so..........who I am