No Title Needed. Poem by Alistair Plint

Nearing my fourty fifth
birthday;


Arthritic joints
worn skin
and a spine that
shrinks in water
leaves rusted body panels
under bed covers
an extra hour;
when the birds
wake the sun
during chimes
of Grandfathers
and Coo-coos

Limbs lay warming
in the winter breath
-dehyrated bone

Did you know one third
of a living bone
is water?

The heart
takes longest
to propel, with
engine starter cranks
on a Model T
It splutters
vibrates
stalls
falls
and clanks off
-on the morning's
incline

I wonder how much
slow starts
are age
versus
miles driven
on African
pothole ridden
dirt roads?

I'd imagine if
a lamp worth rubbing
was found
wishes would be
as abstract
as our virginity
or cracks in bones
filled and recoated
in the reincarnation
of personalities
powered on WD-40

If honesty
splashed across
poetic paper
Prayers
would light
thornless
stems

holding buds of colour
upright
and confident
as bodies ache
in the blood spins
of the half century
marathon


To me poetry that wears "heart" and "soul" without the nausea, in a single write...
is Citalopram