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THE ELDER
By Quentin Smith
I finally found
my soymilk,
Dripping down my
bathroom mirror,
reflecting some
gerontic man.
The piano speaks
from the summit of Everest
Or at least that
is how the loudest sound
Now reaches me.
Beethoven is
playing in the blue distance.
But I can tell
when it is a dream.
I was not born
with ears for nothing.
On the porch one
day I attained
the end of
knowledge.
It was
exhaustion.
The books said it
was serenity.
Maybe there was
something I did not understand.
I was told to
carry my last will and testament
In a muset bag,
with an outsized crimson tag.
The bag is always
in my possession.
But I was unable
to follow their directions.
Inside, there is
nothing but two
Palimpsests of
flesh.
I think there may
be a surprise.
I once was bit by
an imprisoned giraffe.
It dined with
delight on my cephalin.
This was my
contribution I most remember.
But I am a
serious man.
I walk upright.
I am not a shut
in.
I wake with the
sun.
I can even prove
my life is happy.
I have it in
hand.
My mother, or was
it my daughter,
Left me a note
saying that
Everything is
alright.
Written June 9,
2003
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