Middle of The Road

Its when you start to go grey when age is brought out in front of you and you can no longer causally look the other way and forget about it.

The following is a doddle on age.

Elder

White chalk creeps subtle as children and mischief under parents’ eyes.
A brown brush wanes like ink washed from the skin
imperfect, youth is ushered from the door sent packing to place
of still frames and televisions tuned with sprinkles of spotted snow.
Dark lines and furrows of wrinkles like farmers fields
the silver platter serves the restaurant critics eye to
Scoff, reminisce at short trousers and spring faces.
Forget not the white chalk in your whispers,
youth is a whore to fright, stumble and fall and
Old age a companion of friends with history books
laced with a teacher’s tongue
forged from bullets and bombs into
full bloodied red wine.