youth!

there's much to be said for you:
naivete is foolish but so pleasant! hope's fresh as spring.
i kicked the sapling, pocketed hands relaxed
just to see the leaves shiver. don't we all?
but grotesque, grotesque! is the mighty oak, kneeling down
to curl its hoary frame back to acorn.
so then. i wandered on, watching the guttered grit
sputter underneath the traffic's surge.
age--relentless, grinding oily momentum onward:
invisible, except upon inspection
or black defilement of newly-driven snow.
unstoppable is age's traffic. yet, never so revolting
as when pursuing youth's departed frame.
meandering, my journey pulls slow steps from me
as every day demands less youthful youth.




2/17/09