Not much to say after so many years

grooming for the sickle and bone.

Three years of throwing lead and shooting pool,

enough beer to tank the English navy,

I sit beneath this tree, tongue tied and breathing

like a fifties iron lung perched

next to a Red Cross sign

swinging like two bulbous breasts in a hot breath breeze.

Youth laugh like life is forever.

You and I know life is only a Monarch

chasing time through a lovely flower garden.