Two Photographs of the Same Poet, Years Apart

While I was busy growing up

you were busy getting old.

Were you bundled away

to some disused warehouse,

changed from handsome dark-haired

party Prof to this sombre grey

bearded power fixing me

from the back cover?

My turn now to watch things move

that should be staying put,

look at the young being young -

more beautiful following long

nights in the elements.

I would say it's not fair

but I've left that kind of drivel

behind me, and there's

the one good thing

in all of this: my words

look as young as theirs

but have more weight,

and my strength to haul and hoist

them is renewed. Yes,

the wisdom versus youth debate,

and I'd broker both

(though in the warehouse

process continues

amid the jokes).

So there you are

smiling, relaxed

with glass in hand -

all those unborn words -

and here, everything

bursting out through the eyes.