28

Age is a shirt pulled form the hamper
It hasn’t been there long, yet you can tell
Near perfection masked
By a sign of time gone by
Scars and tears, wrinkles, discoloration
Though you want to pull it off
And iron it but don’t care enough
The small pleasantries become daily routine
In youth one routine is felt
Trick yourself into believing
I struggle against calculated reiteration
Of my days like a rerun cartoon
But somehow the soft caress of it
Calls to me and seems peaceful