Death is never very far away from my Dad's mind and being on the wrong side of seventy there is that uncomfortable truth that time is narrowing and running thinner.

Age is sucking him dry; sagging his skin and turning his clothes into three sizes to big but in the true style of my dad, he still wears them since as long as he is warm and comfortable he pretty much does not care what he looks like.

The following is about the lack of time but also from a son's prespective. We are both running out of time before our paths part.

One More Day

Bathtub skin
hangs like one pegged clothes on a washing line.

The clock sucks on a straw
spits to shrink well worn cloth to giant’s clothes.

A man has slowly become a boy
who wants to play for just one more day.

My nephews came to visit Sunday and is often the case they decided to turn the garden into their very own playground. I took the opportunity of getting some practice with my Nikon D3000 by taking a few photos and playing with settings along the way.

The following is inspired by the immortality photos give but also the mortality as well. Our images remain but often our names fade given time and the failure to record them.

Historian

A postage stamp collection
frozen like microscopic slides
they stretch decades
like stepping stones
each number,
a fragment of a second
labelled neatly as dead butterflies
immortality is given
but their names forgotten
in the failed electrics of memories.