Had I know this would happen to the skin
below my right eye
I would have taken a picture
every year
that I was young
and the skin had not yet
betrayed
my story.
I would have documented my beauty
so that now
I could hang it on the wall,
and remember to those who may wonder
that, yes, I was young
with all that comes
once.
Now women buy me wine at restaurants.
Single women.
Women who pity me and laugh
at what they imagine to be
their good fortune,
their dodged bullet.
Women who made different choices
they see me and wonder
in awe,
maybe at the crows feet
under my right eye,
or the skin below my chin
that used to house a plump
double
and now drags down to comfort
a fussy toddler
in a busy Chinese restaurant.
I thank them as I leave.
We are all making choices.
However,
had I known,
had I only known,
this would happen to the skin
under my right eye:
I would have take a picture every year before
a testament,
a record.
a monument to my empty pointless youth.
As it is now
I sit with my crows feet
and the hair growing out of odd places,
and the skin comforting my son,
and marvel
that his favorite song
by far
and he loves many many songs,
but his favorite
that he can play
with the push of a button
manufactured in China,
his favorite of all
is
"ode to joy"
cr 2008
