“We were ransacked” —

The truth is, we were ransacked.
And how can I go to the mirror every day
thinking I’m going to see something
different? We all do this in old age,
thinking that it’s going to be a nice surprise
that greets us. Instead, this.
If I were a car, you’d strip me
for used parts. If I were a dog, you’d
put me down, We do that to animals,
believing it’s a mercy. But how do we know?
Maybe within that tail wobble — hesitant
drumbeat on the floor, which we see
as acceptance —there is, instead, a cry, a surge.
No! the dog shouts to us,
I still have the Great American Novel
left in me! I can still fall in love
with a Balinese cocktail waitress,
who will redeem all my sins,
solve all my shadows.
While we give it a pat on the head,
poor dear, and some Alpo.
While outside, in the gloom-dusk,
obedient cars follow their headlights,
for they can think of nothing else,
no insight, no grand plan, just
trailing that wedge of light
to the bitter end.