Put on a record and call the cats home

It’s only a consideration of the time
that age should progress along with thoughts
and the dire melancholy of youth pass unseen
into the sloth and torpor of middle-age.

With social pillars falling and circles shrinking,
the quiet dark replaces the bawdy nights,
sinking under the sill with smoky exhalations
and shrieking female laughter.

Happiness projects go from incomplete to nonexistent
and solace comes only in hazy memories –
of having trust in authority,
of having unadulterated fun and laughter,
of uncomplicated relationships,
and hope for a positive future,
or indeed,
for any future at all.


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