An infant has no cares
For affairs of any state,
Outside its snotty, soiled, salty-eyed self.
It needs no By whose authority.
From a second passing glance,
The child recognized individuality,
Exerted some influence,
But succumbs to authority.
By the teens, there is control
Over the body; offers suggestions,
Some listen;
Builds a matrix,
Sits for ID,
Moves from table to table,
Much more careful of soiling.
The third glance confirms the leap
To twenty-one, a global adult
Of the **** Erectus.
Exposing clan colours,
Digging trenches, eating meat.
Soiled, salted and respected
At fifty, and recognizing the conflict,
The approach of incriminating retirement,
Visitors commenting on the lack of edges,
The smoothness of demeanor.
Late life arrived before relaxation,
And the falling off of directives.
Who wants to **** with you
And your remaining sanity.
By whose authority do they act.
I grow weary of worldly affairs
As infancy nears.
