Love Song of

I grow old – I grow old
& fear eating peaches?
[without knowing how
poetry works] – Mr T S
is read out by Mr Irons
whilst my feet splinter
into thousands of thin
reminders / Pain is my
diary / My dog cannot
know that our days of
walks are numbered /
Swallowing is a luxury
on lead-strolled days /
I yank her past shards
& keep her lead tight /
My hands still work at
my doggerel healings /
There are evenings of
such lonely aches that
I rest on hard benches
to calm late walk pain
before being led again
in an orbit of suffering
by age & malfunctions
& adulation of another
I’ll lie [but without her]

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