self-portrait at fifty
If life is an open vein, then what’s brave
about a sleeve-heart, sweetheart? Up’s so often
up against, a slave to passion and outrage,
fed fat as a harbor seal watching the locks.
Life has its ups and downs. I feel, I feel,
fishmeal. Am I bleeding again? One grows tired,
second-guessing, when yes can’t help but acquiesce.