Silent steps from the deep end of Eternity
Seem to echo more mournfully down the corridors of your life.
All the anticipation, expectation & prognostication having systematically considered
Every one of the almost infinite permutations and possibilities,
Assigning each its own probability,
“Don’t give me all that! ”
Her bitter barbs flaying the skin off his spirit’s back
For the god-knows-how-many-hundredth time.
Does the 'Big Bang' of living
Leave a sort of Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation behind it –
The faintest of faint echoes
Reverberating below the waterline
Bruebach to Brunstatt to Didenheim
Every day, without fail, rain or shine.
Stick-thin – and a thin stick at that –
No 'old stick' though:
Full surgery – caseload queue surging out of the waiting room door
And curling down the corridor
Like some sick snake
Swallowing a cocktail of complaints
Size matters –
Doesn't it just…
Not the hoary old joke
Just five or six still standing.
Five or six from fifty or sixty thousand.
The rest? –
Mown down mercilessly
He came back last week.
Seemed as if he’d changed his coat and his tune,
Having worn terribly,
And faded four or more shades the deeper