I sit alone
In my own company
Looking at my younger self
Through time jaded eyes
Wishing to give
Some learned advice
Wanting to share
The wisdom of age
But knowing
His time is past

do you ever dream of a place
where you were so unhappy

that you have to go back
forcibly

do you ever wake up late
your neck hurting

like heck

do you console yourself that it
is winter

dark and to be expected
occasionally

do you still feel guilty
anyhow

some do

some are glad it was just a dream

Whatever happened
        With shortening?
Haven't seen it in any kitchen
          Or recipe, in
Fourty-five years

Absolutely a possibility the new know all that there is to be
Without rearing or influences
You see. They see.
From the beginning maybe
Experience colors the soul a
Bit pessimistic or routine is
It or reality that
Days add more than wrinkles
To our cheeks, perhaps, days add
Crinkles to your synapse,
A fold to your temporal lobe
Not temporary or extraneous that we learn evil,
Not a bite from some apple,
A reptilian representation, or
As we crawl skinned knees
Burn supple becomes calloused.
As It were, instinct, I can
Smell
Burning like incense in a swaying
Silver cantonment ritual.

Dark days, it’s never light
I have the lights on all day
Night is starting to close in at four pm
At least it’s a quiet time of year
Nothing is stirring
Typical November
No sun, no moon, no stars

After going to the store for some greens
I took a walk up Farlton Knot
I needed a guide
The sky was was  a bright red flame colour
Probably some rain on the way
I didn’t stay long
I came down
and made my way home

The neighbours were organizing a street party
right in the middle
of Covid 19
Their closeness took my breath away
and my skin crawled
I had a word with one of them
but they were acting strange
forming a triangle across the street
I finally left
and went back indoors