He stayed in the bathroom, staring into the mirror,
long after finishing his shave,
and, not pleased with what he saw,
he had to admit, to time he was a slave.
He turned his head left and then right,
pulling and stretching his face,
but every time he removed his hand,
the wrinkles popped back into place.
And what were those little “feet”
at the corner of his eyes,
he hadn’t even been close to crows,
but time had delivered an unwelcome prize.
He ran his fingers through his hair,
at least the strands that remained,
and wondered how they got so gray,
a mystery unexplained.
The bright glare of the ceiling lights
made the top of his head brilliantly shine.
He couldn’t recall growing up that way,
what had he done for time to malign?
Certain he had been born with just one chin,
he could only guess chins must replicate,
but didn’t see any use for the extra one now,
why had time given him such a fate?
He patted his belly, remembering once tight abs,
and the favorite 32″ jeans he used to wear.
The ones he couldn’t bring himself to toss out,
but wouldn’t fit today on a million dollar dare.
His former “six-pack”, from thousands of long ago crunches,
somehow time had stolen and replaced with soft flab.
The sides of his waist were now horizonal,
and the front of it proceeded him, easy to grab.
“What is time anyway, and why am I its victim?”
he pondered, noting his mouth’s edges now turned down.
He didn’t like those brown spots on his face,
nor time turning his countenance into a frown.
It didn’t matter to him how often the earth circled the sun,
it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with him,
he minded his own business, innocently along for the ride,
but time, wickedly, was turning his future ever more grim.
He ran out of time now, whatever it is time may be,
it was time to dress for bingo at the retirement home,
arthritis and stomach flab making it take almost an hour
to pull on his socks, but his hair only two seconds to comb.
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