The Harried Life

 
 
 
Middle Age is an apex predator,
eats alive young-uns,
    leaves the remains.
 
I go to cemeteries to think
but rarely do it alone.
 
Holding hands, keeping pace
with our bodies,
 
happily married yet hunted—
we journey to the heart of a B-side
 
from a prehistory when singles were common.
You could hold them
   in your hands.
You could lower a
 
needle or press a PLAY button
to summon hallowed company.
 
At night she applies a special cream
to a blotch on her right cheekbone…ashamed
    because this is what aging
 
                 brought her.
Try to kiss that cheek, she’ll
swat you away.
 
Press PLAY.
We go to bed to be free of thinking,
others look on...