Don't Look

The sad phenomenon of aging in a Western culture.

I was once strong, lean,

wiry, and hard,  I ran

for my life through

shattered shambles of

broken, German cities,

terrified and grateful,

fighting for the freedom

of a whole generation

alongside brothers that

never made it home.

 

I  have prowled steel

girders, stories above

bustling, city streets,

literally laying the

foundation for civilized

society with my own

calloused hands, taking

lunch and smoke breaks

amongst the clouds, with

some of the finest, bravest

friends one could hope to

have.

 

I sprinted through Coney

Island with the untamed

delight reserved for only

the smallest, most innocent

of children, played

stickball in the steamy,

Summer streets of my

boyhood, splashed in

ice-cold geysers gushing

from open fire hydrants,

 

I fought battles with

fierce, neighborhood

bullies in gravelly, back

alleys, went parking

with beautiful girls,

flawless in my young,

adolescent eyes, heart

pounding in my chest

with the gentle caress

of lips on skin and soft,

heavy breathing of

unbridled, youthful passion.

 

I watched the world pass

by, first as a participant

and now as an observer,

technology rendering

almost every facet of my

life obsolete, struggling

to adapt to my diminished

capacity for work, love,

and life.

 

I lie here now, lacking both

the strength and the will

to get out of bed and make

it to the hallway in this

unfamiliar place, my new

home that stinks of piss

and age, I feverishly

attempt to shed my

underclothes, attempting

to avoid the painful

humiliation of letting

a complete stranger

clean up my s**t right

in front of me.

 

I cry every day, lamenting

my lost life, the time

when I meant something

to myself and the world,

when I was something,

anything other than a

burden on the country

that I worked to build

and fought to defend,

with my youthful,

strong hands.

 

I fold my wrinkled,

spotted hands in prayer,

begging that I will

someday regain

everything I lost, the

things I never knew

I had until they were

gone.

 

Please, don’t look at me.

-CV

Reviews

[The Lady Anasteja]

Absolutely Deserved! I almost cried. As soon as I read this, I knew you were the winner. Even with 14 other poems to go thru. Kudos! And thank you for sharing.

[Siddartha Beth Pierce]

Congratulations on the Award. Well deserved, this is a stunning poem. I am assuming it is about a war veteran to whom I always say, 'Thank you for your service and for still standing.' Powerful words and imagery. Well done. Thank you for sharing your talent.
Light,
Siddartha

[Siddartha Beth Pierce]

Congratulations on the Award. Well deserved, this is a stunning poem. I am assuming it is about a war veteran to whom I always say, 'Thank you for your service and for still standing.' Powerful words and imagery. Well done. Thank you for sharing your talent.
Light,
Siddartha