All Dressed Up With Nowhere To Go
A poem by Michael Hawkes
December 16, 2021
My body leads the way,
Dictates the terms
And sets the pace.
Bound by its chains
Its stern commands,
I follow shamefaced in disgrace.
What once was mine
To do with as I pleased,
When I the master chose
Is in decline,
Sick and diseased
With many strictures to impose.
I find no pleasure in its posture
And taking pains to get some ease
I use it as a hanger for my clothes.
When suitably attired
Despite some minor stains
The damage hardly shows;
With well accoutred aches and pains,
I’m able to admire
The pleasant change it undergoes.
28/07/21 – Hawkes
Feature image: Rene Böhmer on Unsplash
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[/col][col size=”10″]Michael Hawkes is an 80-year-old survivor of all the world’s wars. He learned (and loved to rhyme) by torturing the hymns he had to sing at school. A retired West Coast fisherman living in Montreal since 2013, he is an unschooled Grandpa Moses writing an average of five poems every week.
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A touching poem about age and change and trying to come to terms with it all. Thank you for this.