There is no rhyme to it.

There is no rhyme to it.

As I grow older

My skin loosens

Its grip

On my bones

It barely fits

In the right places

An old raincoat

More than a little shabby

After too much wear

Frayed at the edges

Worn thin at the elbows

I am determined

To tighten up

Some people are easy peelers

I am leather-bound

Built to withstand

Changes in fortune

A steady hand

To pull the trigger

Should the need arise

It won’t

I have seen the damage that

Can do

There is no place

For it in this story

Threadbare though it is

I carry loss

It sits alongside my gratitude

Comparing notes

Vying for preeminence

Their cancelled culture

Evens the pressure

Reducing my risk

Of surrender

To self-pity

Enervation

And the blind eye

Of the body snatcher.