Final Hurdle Poem by Sheena Blackhall
Final Hurdle
Bleak sun is a blob of mercury shot with ice
Trees gossip with their neighbours. The news is bad
Each year I'm dying faster
My glucose count goes leaping over the hurdles
My hernia looks like a calcifying pregnancy
Near the harbour, a trio of shags fling open their wings to dry
Like undertakers opening and shutting umbrellas
Clack clack go my skeleton teeth
The gaps increasing, worn away by time
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12/8/2025 3:34:27 PM # 1.0.0
A touching mourning of age moving so fast.