No Compassion for Grandparents



The venting of their continual annoyance

coursed through their brittle veins

seasoned by plastic fruit and bitter righteosness

surrounding and sustaining them;

Without hope for metamorphosis

They use up their alloted heartbeats

Dancing a long grey shrivelling death.



In Ft. Lauderdale, some people swim at seasides,

and seek shells for their lovers,

To taste the gentle pink flesh of life.

These two take baths,

stoop for baseboard tonail clippings,

gorge on bland restaurant food, and after,

eat each other, with the room they leave.



And though I visited to comfort them,

It really wouldn't matter after all

If they lost their wooden-toothed bite

On Life's shrivelled reluctant teat

And dropped to ground

Like gossamer coccoons in autumn wind.