The Graffiti of Aging
The dusty ghost of old paintings haunts the walls:
reminders that I am not the only tenant in this world.
This is the graffiti of aging–the skin of experience
has found a wrinkle and is beginning to fret, a disused
guitar that needs some strong, grey steely strands.
The spirit of youth is wily, though: a coyote I cannot
outrun; shaking spray cans and laughing. And the question
becomes–not can I catch up, or could you? But can we
choose a color suitable for both the old and for the new?