No one needs a passport for aging
It greedily pulls in every immigrant
Helps lose me names of my old friends
Deciphered in terror in the small of the night
This mirror shows not ripped abs but cracked molars
Dark crevasses deep as space
Your face Nanny McPhee in reverse
White spots and brown spots and bald spots and warts
Popping up like mushrooms after a fresh rain
Though you’re a constant surprise to yourself
Youth remains another country where
Sad sacks sit obsessed by screens
Cramming sex and scared of the future
Just like you
But they’ll speak to you
Say this planet no longer theirs
You screwed it all up
You only take part-credit
Explain reality another delusion
Admit there’s too many of us and
What comes next may not go well
But it still could be a lot of fun
Colors on a screen play better in the mind
Which holds the best eyes to see
All that was and might be
