With our down-turned mouths, and trenches
forming on each side, evidence of our disappointments.
Look at the nests by the eyes, we were so easily amused,
(what else was there to be), and nurtured (if reluctantly)
those who insisted upon our goodness. Ah, morality.
Did you buy it? I didn’t. Ethics, sure, sure one needs those,
but I value the wisdom of my own furrows. Look
at my brow. I know what I know. We are sinners, you
and I, but I can live with that. I won’t speak for you
my friend. What are we doing? With such good (or
good enough) lives and our not deserving a bit of it but
having earned it. See how easy it is to laugh at this age.
So much is funny after so many tears. You get sentimental
and it leads to truth because we are reaching that time when
we don’t give a damn about others eyes upon us. I’m glad
you are here even if you weren’t there. You were doing
whatever it was such philosophers do, and I was
meant to survive you and then some. Meant to and did and
isn’t that why you are here?
It’s good to see what survives us, how we are then freed
to move away, on, but never back. I told you I wasn’t “nice.”
Nice women don’t get this far. And you, well,
you were worse, but look at me becoming nostalgic.
We are here to discuss the turn of years over a coffee. To
note how much we forgive each other’s fallen faces.
Finding the Baby