A Short Distance to Old
When you turn a key in a lock,
and rust grips it with age, you
diminish it to old. I was altered
and furrowed by age long before
my mother’s hip replacement. She
speeds along faster than me now
but she’s still old. And my hearing’s
a bit like scattered noise, but it’s
been so, long before my mother
had a hearing aid, and now her
hearing is better than mine but
she still pretends to be deaf.
And my mother says there aren’t
enough days in a year, but when
my bones ache, the day can seem
as worn and old as long grey hair.
But neither us keep anything
more worn than ourselves.