On Growing Derelict Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

There's something about growing old that is distasteful. I mean there's something and it's not the smell of decay from the oral cavity or the wobbliness of gait. It's that there are so many wrinkles you can't see the soul between crevices. And don't talk about the innumerable facial brown spots discounting the ones on the back of hands displaying alien constellations challenging my astral knowledge of the heavens.

Gorbachev paraded his celestial map on top of his head while my brown spots are like trails of bread crumbs leading the way to the big bad wolf. With thinning or receding hairlines to totally bald heads, women's breasts descend toward paunchy or non-existent midriffs depending on whether they are plump or emaciated while pot-bellied men stand on ridiculously spindly legs.

By the way that's when I understood that suspenders were a must for the balloon-bellied for it's nearly impossible to cinch a belt on a perfect sphere. I hate when my belt descends to just above my pubic hairline. This whole idea of growing old sucks. Especially during on our way out, we smile and show black gaps between our teeth. Wallets balk at the enormity of the required gold to implant cosmetic appearances.

And with no money left in our bank account we squeal like pigs
Gabriel Garcia Marques said it's not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams. Of course the way I read it is they are no longer able to run. That's why I stopped pursuing and chose instead to dream phantasmic dreams where I levitate or fly because I refuse to grow wings.

I figure I have enough appendages to last me another lifetime. Except for when I started losing my teeth one at a time. My fangs from now on will prevent me from acting out Dracula around Halloween. But then I wish I were like that a certain faith that propounds eternity in some other god forsaken life where one rebirths into a forever life. Where, I guess, no one dies but declines into eternal boredom.