301 Moved Permanently

301 Moved Permanently


nginx

Playing Dead Among the Dead

Our skin is splotched. We hobble down the hall of pink tiles, the mall concourse,
where lighting turns sallow the few who aren’t, and welcome to being silver
without the screen…but our walkers help us avoid a fall, and the mall has ramps, railings,
benches, all set up to fend off exhaustion, though the air is rank with missed chances,
as if Chance itself has rotted…and so the throat constricts, the sphincter wants to shut,
or has shut, just watch our shuffle, table legs move faster, but damn the painters
of this place, they chose white to defeat us, its shout of clean, new, fresh, alive,
while these shops cater to decrepits, polyester rules on sales’ racks, though staring
for too long hurts our necks…and Hope left years ago, we were sometimes happy,
smiling at a stranger was what we did, and today the stranger’s a terrorist and everything’s for sale, including us, the sneered-at seniors, the ones who fought abroad,
who moaned Momma in the dark on that rocky beach, after playing dead among the dead,
till deep night…we know about depth, and talking too much, we don’t have to,
we’re your future, our crutches are your memento mori, we of the long or gone memory,
each of us a bag of bones some god could use for soup…still, no need to hate us,
our stoop and stupor, we hate it more, what we see when we unbutton, the folds,
the purple veins, and when our clothes hit the floor, they no longer get twisted with
someone else’s, and even if Paris was yesterday, Paris is forgotten…now here’s
the pharmacy!…the best, the biggest store, with wide aisles and perfume waft,
the pastel walls and calming music, the smiling staff who always wait for us,
and the turnstiles gleam silver, but only turn one way.

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