Shrapnel of the Age

Don’t knock technology you precious Boomer

with stents to hold your options open

pacemakers to keep you up with the beat

lenses to enhance your critical eye

and aids to stop the youngsters mumbling

there’s mesh to hold in your sags and bulges

titanium screws for your shattered dreams

ceramics and polymers, silicon and wires

your teeth capped and crowned for a royal smile

so don’t give us all that natural bullshit

carry with pride the shrapnel of the age.

An old mirror from the hospice shop

You have seen so many faces hiding so much humanity, heavy, burdened, your glass sharp, clear in intent to speak truth to light, giving only reflective counsel, insight to those who would see for themselves. But your oak frame has darkened, cracked under interrogation, wearied of bearing witness to the toll light takes as time ticks by, and I ask myself what I see in you, and are you likely to see me through.