My old bones in the morning ache
like cogs and wheels accumulating
rust from a cloying atmosphere.
Decrepitude. It mocks.
But I sense in this calling of time
a humour that goes with the warning
so I can languish in the arrested zone
and take stock
by starring in some delicious dreams
so real that heaven has surely come
and wrapped me in a welcome blanket.
So here, between the light and dark,
the mild and bitters,
I am a novice.
Ready to go lightly and laugh
at the tolling of last orders.
Ladies and Gentlemen. Time Please.