If I were not old
I would paint the house
and shore up the insulation.
I would go out and **** the garden
and cut down brush and vines
that have taken over the yard
and suffocated my flowers.
I would put in a metal fence
and plant roses around it.
But I am too old for that
and I may die here one day,
in a darkened room, caught
inside the crumbling plaster,
whose windows are covered by ivy,
which reaches its fingers across the walls.
It is almost as if the errant plants
strive to imitate the flowers
I used to bring inside and
place in bouquets to brighten
my world, no matter how small.
I shudder to think what will be,
now that the flowers are gone.

“I used to be disgusted,
Now I just have to refuse
The allure of money and status.
Before, I could be happy just being me,
Saying “No” to anything that I didn’t need.
But now, she’s told me I’ve got to choose,
Between her and the life I want,
Must either be a corporate shill
A shallow, capitalist dilettante,
Or be myself, and lose her good will.
I am so close to saying “’goodbye’”
And testing her just to see,
If she really means what she says,
Or if she has fooled herself
As I did for so long.
Trying to be like big brother,
Upright, moral and honored (by some),
But something in him was lacking
“And as I saw through it,
I knew I did not have the nature
To pretend I was that grand
Or could sink that low
in hidden plots to undo those he envied.

I watched her in the dim light
Of a place where the punished toil
And I was consumed with hatred,
And a wish to set her free.
How can I save her from this charade,
This bourgeois masquerade?

When she notices my clumsy efforts,
she asks me what it is I want and I reply,
‘All I ask is to practice in my own style,
Colorful but honest, riding the edge”;
Her response is inscrutable but
She likes it when I con the corporate ******,
And joins in with a new name and a sly smile,
We drink tequila and don’t pay,
Leave some loudmouth with the bill and
hedge our bets as we kiss in the evening breeze.

“Apparently, a kiss was more powerful
than me acting as an imitation drudge!
And a night in bed together satisfying enough
to draw her into my world.

I would show her little ways of breaking rules,
the cheat with no one noticing,
building up our own little universe,
rebelling against the system in subtle ways.
Oh! Those were golden days and I was happy.

Yet now, years later, she has gone far away,
perhaps for good, though I don’t see why.
When I call and ask, she will never say
what I can do to bring her back.

Granted, my life has turned around,
perhaps to something she dislikes,
but she leaves it for me to guess
whether it’s too flamboyant or just a mess.
Yet I refuse not to try so hard, hanging on the sound
of her cherished voice on the phone,
its flat, restrained notes telling me:
“You are alone”.
And still I love and hope.

Sharon Talbot
February 28, 2025

When a black sheet has been
thrown over the moon
and a million lazy stars
have fallen from view
I hear the wind has
grown tired of traveling
I hear the sound of mandolins
crying in the mountains
I hear the rattle of
gypsy wheels
I hear the heavy hearts
of horses upon the
restless roads of
broken poetry ...
Clay.M