That Worn Towel on the Back of the Chair, a Poem


Inside the Closed-in Shells

All the Days that Came to Pass Became

Nothing More than a Worn Towel, Slug Across the Back of the Chair

The Reflections from the Stains

it’s like this, save that the towel wouldn’t be as new, not my photograph…

(Recalling How Someone Else Was Here Before

Sitting and Thinking about Another

In the End

Leaving Behind the Remains of the Body)

The Scent from the Towel’s Sides

Had that Lightness of Feather to It

Flying Off in Shivers, Instantly

it’s more like this, not my photo still…

The Person Who Took the Old Towel Away Also

Took Away the Days

And, on the Chair without the Days

He’d Slouched Over & Sat

Like a Nautilus Shell

So this, is how the days come to pass, and, although the poet didn’t specify, that he’s writing about how someone’s day is passing by, you can read from the lines, that that, is what he’s describing, someone growing old and gray, sitting in the old chair, all alone, with NOBODY to keep him company, such, a lonely way to live………

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