Old Hag am I

 

Old hag am I

hair a-snaggle, jaw a-shaking

stained thermal shirt

ripped jeans

green sock with toe poking through

 

There is a joy in my face in the mirror, mirror on the wall

beneath the starting pimple

nostrils rubbed red by t.p. tissues

I drop my pen with stiff fingers –

a touch of the usual?

– Don’t mind if I do!

 

No love keeps the dawn watch for me

no serenade to break the city calm of this morning hour

except the yowl of a hungry cat

but I grin as I get up from my desk to feed her

I eat my belly full of my words

mine,

my my my my

very own

words

for

 

Old hag am I, and I never lie.

 

 

– VB April 19^th, 2006