A short poem.
by Marcus Jonathan Chapman
Youthful Beaty
nods and smiles
at graying experience
the coolness of
sweaters
Jackets
shirts
Sagging in all the right places
Betrays
The pursuit of success
Cleavage shines and rings
skirts high tail
chandelier leggings
locked eyes
loose legs
Meanwhile
Armies of
Scabbed hands
bruised arms
oxygen tanks
vet hats
social security cheques
keep the boat
Floating
The pianist’s fingers bleed
for the raised voice
recognition
of barfly’s and
passersby
Five claps for the piano man
and I write on torn
sheets of a legal pad
trying to understand what I’m doing
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