how we look
forgetting much
our fathers
mothers
theirs and such
as all had seen
while weened
we were
with bottle
nipple
or godhead triple
it is not the skin
without a wrinkle
nor even breasts
and muscles firm
but all
that in our past
we missed
hope we
in other’s youth
to kiss
it takes a heart
both brave and gentle
to wear serene
death’s impending mantle
That is no shame
in honest life
There is no blame
in years of strife
when gently
every girl and boy
(transgenders need us not annoy)
with no envy
love embraces
and we the old
remember our places.
Just a bus named “desire”
(streetcars often obsolete)