i lost my pen again
i’m rushing for a meeting,
but the fountain pen symbol screamed write.
i lost my pen so i typed…
the sun still casts
it’s brilliant light 19:26.
she descends to another place
& the moon supplants her till sunrise?
this dual partnership never fails
but i,
the body decreed a set time –
when?
i could die tomorrow!
or the feisty sister put it
as she sat in her
electric wheelchair
“you could be 130.
can you tell me when?”
i could be 130.
or this ripe old age
half century:
a friend never made it past 20.
publish! the prompt screamed.
i’m late for this meeting,
19:56, editing. meandering
through this green Frome Valley,
consumed by a crisp dry cider
gifted to me,
tapping this afterthought
knowing, you,
& those after and those before –
straddle an altogether different
&
strikingly similar path.
Another Poem by Skendong: The End of the World Has Come For Some