Saturday, November 6, 2010

Old man

If I could lay my hands
on you, I’d scrub you pink
in a steaming tub of froth
then run my rough tongue
over your spine in steady strokes
with all the love and tenacity
of any mother cat.

Your ears sit closed,
the accumulated wax of decades
shutting me out until
my footsteps fade
with muffled thumps away
down the worn carpeted hall.
 
Rachel Westfall
November 6, 2010

7 comments:

Anthony Duce said...

Such a good poem. Great imagery in this. A very lucky old man.

RachelW said...

Thanks, Anthony! I'm not certain where this image came from. This certainly isn't my old man, so he must be someone else's.

K.Lawson Gilbert said...

Very interesting. My favorite lines;
Your ears sit closed,
the accumulated wax of decades
shutting me out...

christopher said...

I will write to this next noon. I have no time now. It's a great poem.

RachelW said...

K., thanks so much for stopping by!
Christopher, I'm waiting..... ;-)

Woman in a Window said...

oh, maternal mixed with sexual, and all with love and healing. i like this very, very much, Rachel.

xo
erin

kkrige said...

I like the cadence of this. You paint a vivid picture here.