A Certain speed Limit

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A poem

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This is what 55 looks like:

See these eyes, they have seen scenes
Unspeakably horrific and beatific.
Lovers leaving slamming madly
Others arriving with two bottles of good wine.
Parents splitting like miscreant cells screaming
Parents laying wasted in bed, skinny, bald toothless again.

See this mouth, it has spoken
Lies to husbands, judges, doctors
Grounded pubescent offspring , broken oaths
Projected lines in a play for praise
Sang along with the Supremes in a ’65 Mustang
Quit good jobs, whispered to Priests
Raised the rent and lowered the cursing voice.

See these hands so recently penned poetic
They have slapped faces, twice, and hard
Served Montana Governors Prime Rib
Voted for Carter, Clinton and Gore
Hand cuffed finger printed and wedding ringed
Rang doorbells for Tupperware and lovers
Late at night shakily holding a hankie.

See these ears pierced down to the drum
They have heard foreign trains announced
Door bells Wedding Bells Death knells
Black cat moan puncturing the heart:
I love you, Darling. I love you not Crazy Bitch
Best of all: I love love you Gramma.
Bagpipes, ancient Hammond B2 organs
Homemade mandolins , a daughter with no ear
Learning the violin and voices in the night
Cheerful introductions
Crushing news of violent deaths.

And so fair folk---Let this happen to you:
When you are old and dotty and nodding my the IMac
Take down your thoughts and slowly write
And pass your sage age all along the way.


Kelly King 7/25/07