RETRIBUTION

the old poet sat in late autumn darkness
in his wheelchair
sitting at some seniors aquatic centre
in wonderment

feeling in close PROXIMITY to dementia
waiting for the mystery of rehab
unable to swim
unable to write

IMMOBILE and restless for the next step
his mind surrounded with thoughts
that lost their language
a place to keep...until finding another use for it

tracking the interiors around it
where the mind is the secret
a transparent collision of memories
swallowed up in the cracks

transfixed with roaring sounds of silence
screaming above the truth of aging
below the pedestrians on the sidewalk
unable to take another shower before the swim

troubled by the aging cross-dressers
masquarading in search of new bodies
who prostitute their souls with charity
without RETRIBUTION