Age Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

He took another look
while she sat there,
by the half-open curtains,
catching the afternoon sun
in a most unflattering,
even cruel manner.

No, this was not what he,
so many years back
had plucked with eager hands,
while being careful not to
disturb the others, courtesy
would not be wasted on the weeds,
as he remembered, vividly
how he had partaken of them, as well.

There was a mass of jowl jell-o,
suspended from the chin,
as if the hyoid bone
had shat itself.
The oval shape
of her visage was,
to say it with some kindness,
Hiroshima, way after, though.

He rose and wandered into
the fluorescence of the bath.
And took a leak, haltingly,
it was that ancient geezer of
a prostate, man's best curse.

Ready to douse the light
a fleeting look would do,
into the mirror. Blink.

Detouring to the pantry
he poured some red,
first for her, then for himself.
'Here's to your health',
he sang, with
just a bit of humour.
She looked much better
already, sure did.